ECHOES 



FROM 



HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE 



A RECORD OF MRS. REBECCA R. POMROY'S 



EXPERIENCE IN WAR-TIMES 



BY 

ANNA L. BOYDEN 



" In the great history of the land, 
A noble type of good, heroic womanhood." 

BOSTON 
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY 

FRANKLIN STREET 






COPYRIGHT BY 

D. LOTHROP & CO. 






^ 



TO THE 

LOYAL SOLDIERS OF OUR LAND, 

WHO PERILED THEIR LIVES AND THEIR FORTUNES FOR 

HOME AND COUNTRY, 

THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS SINCERELY AND 
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 



PREFACE. 



Through the earnest solicitation of friends, Mrs. 
Pomroy consents that a portion of her life shall 
go before the public. 

With the increase of years, the natural desire for 
quiet and seclusion makes it less and less an object 
of interest on her part, but all the more desirous 
are friends that the work of collecting and arrang- 
ing in permanent form the incidents that occurred 
during her public service, should not be delayed 
until the channels of information, which grow less 
with every increasing year, shall be insufficient to 
furnish material for the work. 

This little volume is not intended as a biography; 
it is simply an eventful chapter out of her his- 
tory — a leaf from the book of life. A leaf blotted 
with tears, it is true, yet showing so unmistakably 
God's guiding hand in every line, and exhibiting 
the relation between pure motives and noble achieve- 
ments so clearly as to stimulate rather than depress. 

The stirring events of our Civil War, in which 



6 PREFACE. 

she bore her part so well, are fading from memory. 
They live in history, it is true, but who shall 
rehearse the story of those lives offered as a sacri- 
fice on the altar of their country, when this gen- 
eration shall have passed away? 

The lessons taught by their fortitude, valor, and 
self-sacrifice, are needed for the inspiration and 
incentive of coming generations. 

We regret that our sources of intelligence, with 
regard to the special events of Mrs. Pomroy's ser- 
vice, are not more ample, particularly that portion 
of it during which she was a member of President 
Lincoln's family at the White House. A journal 
whith she had carefully kept during that period, 
in which she had recorded her most interesting 
interviews and conversations with the President, was 
lost during one of her furloughs, and we are 
thereby deprived of much valuable material. 

Personal recollections supply this deficiency in 
part, which, together with letters and information 
derived from a few who were privileged to call 
her " Mother," in the hospital, furnish the chief 
source of supply from which we obtain our infor- 
mation. A. L. B. 

Newton, Mass., 1884. 



CONTENTS. 



I. 

HE LEADETH ME. 

Early Widowhood.— Incidents at Hamilton Camp-Meeting.— 
Beginning of the War.— Her Desire to go as Nurse.— Tele- 
gram from Miss Dix.— Arrival in Washington. 

II. 

FREE TO SERVE. 

Youthful Service.— Georgetown Hospital.— First Night's Experi- 
ence.— Goes to Columbia College Hospital. — Its Appear- 
ance and Surroundings. — First Impressions.— Duties as a 
Nurse.— Letters Home.— Soldiers' Needs.— Nurse's Poetry. 
Assistance from the North.— Small Pox Scare.— Eleventh 
Maine Regiment- The Bugler Boy.— Another Death.— 
Member of the Band.— First Prayer Meeting.— Sunday at 
Columbia College.— Ward-Room.— Barnet of Michigan.— 
Treatment for Scurvy. — Soldiers Encouraged.— Catholic 
Priest. — The quiet Nurse who carried her Point. 

III. 

CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 

Abraham Lincoln.— Is called to the White House.— Interview 
with the President.— Letter Home.— Visit to the White 
House. — False Aspersions corrected. — Obtains Permission 



8 CONTENTS. 

for Protestant Service. — Assistance of "Washington Friends. 

— Soldiers' Free Library.— " The Rebel Flags." — Rev. John 
Pierpont. — Mrs. Secretary Wells. — Ice Cream. — Scarcity of 
Supplies. — Soldiers' Union Relief Association. — A Cup of 
Tea. — Miss Gilson. 

IV. 

ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 

Furlough at the White House.— Privations of Soldiers and their 
Families. — Invoice of wounded Men. — Act of Emancipa- 
tion. — Incidents of President Lincoln's Life. — "Little Tad." 
Incident in the Guest Chamber. — Influx of Wounded Men. 

— Petition for a Chaplain. — Vermont Boy. — A Visit from 
the President. — Charlemagne. — Skennel. — Letters Home. — 
Soldiers' Home. 

V. 

LED ON. 

Alarm at Washington. — Visits Virginia. — The Wounded brought 
in. — Letters Home. — Furlough. — Presentation of Flag. — 
Christmas. — Emancipation Proclamation. — Winter in the 
Hospital. — Album Quilt. — McKinney. — Lucrative Positions 
offered. — Marriage at the Capitol. — Receptions. — Sickness. 

— Letters from Home. 



VI. 

OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 

Hospital Cares. — Cliftburn Hospital. — St. Aleosus Hospital. — 
The Fourth of July. — Mrs. Lincoln's Illness. — Interview 
with the President. — Widow's Request. — Vermont Boy. — 
Second Furlough. — Loss of Journal. — Letter Home. — Pickled 
Beets. — L. E. G.— Miss Dix's Orders. — Routine of Hospital 
Life. — Visit to Virginia. — Invalid Corps. — Gettysburg. 



CONTENTS. 9 

VII. 

I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 

Thanksgiving. — Incidents. — Investigation. — Contrabands. — Song 
of " The Lively Old Lady." — Little Caty. — Preparations for 
more Patients. — Incidents. — Pennsylvania Boy. — The Dance. 

VIII. 

FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 

Exchange of Prisoners. — Goes to West Hospital. — Hospital Hor- 
rors. — A Night in the Attic— Baltimore Boy and Others. — 
Rebel Officer.— Visit to Fortress Monroe. — Hospital Inci- 
dents.— Loss of Matron.— Visit to Virginia,— New York 
Boy. — Kane of Cambridgeport. 

IX. 

SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 

Third Furlough.— Extract from Chelsea Telegraph and Pioneer.— 
Letters Home.— The Father's Appeal.— Office Seeker.— 
Thanksgiving Box.— Rebel won over.— Hanging the Stock- 
ings. — One more Smoke.— Sickness. — Assassination of the 
President. — Is honorably Discharged. — Letter from New- 
burg. — Subsequent Events. 



ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL 
AND WHITE HOUSE. 



CHAPTER I. 



HE LEADETH ME. 



MRS. REBECCA R. POMROY, a brief por- 
tion of whose life comes under our notice, 
became a widow at the age of forty, and under 
circumstances exceedingly painful. 

Her husband had been a sufferer for nineteen 
years, during which time she had buried a dear 
brother and sister, a promising son and an only 
daughter. One son alone remained to her out of 
that once happy family group. When she parted 
with her husband, the last of these dear sufferers, 
all of whom she had watched through weary 
months of nursing, the fountain of loving service 

u 



12 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

seemed to have exhausted itself, and she felt as one 
stricken of God. Still another trial was in store 
for her. The pleasant little home, where had bud- 
ded and blasted all the fond hopes of wife and 
mother, must be sold and passed over to the hands 
of strangers. True, there were friendly hearts and 
homes opened to receive and assist her, but Ra- 
chel's grief, that would not be comforted, was upon 
her. 

Eighteen months had passed, and friends, anxious 
to bring some change into the weary life, suggested 
a few days' recreation at Hamilton Camp meeting. 
After many entreaties she consented, with utter 
indifference as to its result, to try the remedy that 
nature stores up for her children in the pine grove, 
and the change that comes from meeting new faces 
in new surroundings. Here her comfort and con- 
venience was most kindly consulted. For three 
days she sat apart, weak and sensitive, only able to 
commune with her own troubled heart, touched, 
doubtless, by the sweet melody of the Methodist 
hymns, wafted in from the surrounding tents and 
cottages, mingled with the sweet, undefinable 
influences of life in the forest. At the end of 
three days there came a terrible thunder-shower. 



HE LEADETH ME. 13 

Torrents of rain fell, and all the ladies in the tent, 
with the exception of Mrs. Pomroy and an aged 
Christian lady, took refuge in the hotel not far 
distant. I make special mention of these slight 
events because of what follows. 

God had evidently, in his good providence, 
brought her here for a purpose. He had arranged 
the place and the time when he could so manifest 
himself to her as to change the whole current of 
her being and purpose of her life, as the circum- 
stances that follow will show. 

Mrs. Pomroy speaks of this experience as fol- 
lows : '' As we sat alone in our tent, this kind, 
motherly Christian showed great interest in me, 
telling me in the sweetest tones that my Heavenly 
Father was doing all things well by me, and that 
he was only trying me so that I could do more 
for him than ever before. I said that it was 
impossible for me to do anything more for any 
one, and that I wished to die. She then told me 
to put all my faith on Christ, who was watching 
over me like a mother over a sick child, and try to 
say, ' Lord, do with me as thou thinkest best, but 
hold up my goings,' and I should gain strength. 
She prayed earnestly for me, and I gave up all 



14 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

into his hands. For the first time for years I slept 
soundly that night. I woke, after that beautiful 
slumber, refreshed and thrilled with a sense of the 
goodness of God in the physical world about me, 
and felt as though I never had loved him as I did 
then. My great grief that had lain so long like 
a heavy burden was rolled away, and my heart 
said continually, ' Bless the Lord, O my soul.* I 
was the first one out at the morning meeting, and 
the first one to speak of God's love. From that 
time I continued to improve. Appetite, strength 
and spirits came back, and when Saturday came, 
and the meetings broke up, I was loath to leave. 
When I first trod those grounds my harp was hung 
on the willows, but now the voice of the Spirit 
seemed to say, *Go home, and tell thy friends 
what great things the Lord hath done for thee.' 
That night, on parting with the aged Christian, 
she remarked, * The Lord has a work for you to 
do, and he will strengthen you for it.' From this 
time forth my mind gained in quietude and health, 
bodily strength came back by degrees, and I began 
to wonder if the Lord had not something more 
for me to do." 

Two years of widowhood had now passed when 



HE LEADETH ME. 15 

the cry of war agitated our nation. Husbands and 
sons were enlisting, or mustering in camp, or, already 
on the field of action, were pouring out their hearts' 
blood, or, rescued from the battle-field, were lan- 
guishing in impromptu hospitals from insufficient 
treatment and nursing. With the call for men 
came the call for nurses. One day Mrs. Pomroy 
took up the daily paper to peruse the war record, 
when her eye scanned one of those advertisements 
for nurses, common enough in the papers at that 
period, and her attention was arrested. She read 
and re-read, and with every perusal strength of 
purpose grew within her. The pulse beat quickly 
as she thought, " I can answer these requirements ; 
what is to hinder my going ? No earthly tie keeps 
me back, for my son, the only one left of all my 
family treasures, is already on the battle-field. 
Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ?" Nerved by 
prayerful faith, her purpose is no sooner matured 
than she seeks an interview with the old family phy- 
sician, and tells him her wish to go to Washington. 
Here she encounters the first of a series of obsta- 
cles. Her old friend, Doctor Forsyth, replied, " You 
cannot endure, in your present state of health, 
such a long journey, with the coarse food and foul 



16 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

air that must be your portion in those dreadful 
hospitals. 

Her answer was, "I want to be a mother to those 
wounded and dying soldiers." Hon. Frank B. 
Fay, then mayor of Chelsea, had just returned 
from Washington, where he was engaged in service 
in hospitals and on the battle-field, and she was 
advised to confer with him. She did so, telling 
him how much her heart was set upon the object 
before her. His advice was of a similar nature. 
He said the rations of salt pork, meal, and govern- 
ment beef would be insupportable ; that they would 
not take such a frail-looking woman. In addition, 
he said there were already one thousand women 
whose names were registered in books at the State 
House, waiting their orders, and they would be 
sent for first. She then told him of her special 
preparation for the work; the nineteen years of 
nursing in a sick room, and how she thought the 
Lord had called her to go, adding that she should 
not have her name on those books, but should write 
directly to Miss Dix, and trust the result to her 
Heavenly Father. The parting words of Mayor 
Fay furnished little encouragement, but, true to 
the fact that obstacles prove only incentives to 



HE LEADETH ME. 17 

the determined spirit, she went to a third friend, 
who thought, she says, "that I must be a little 
insane," to dream of so laborious a work. 

But at last she found one, an old friend of 
her husband's, Mr. D. of Somerville, whose face 
lighted up as she told him her story. He thought 
she had better sleep over it one more night, and in 
the morning he would talk with her again. The 
morning dawned and the conversation was renewed, 
at the conclusion of which he said, " I do say go, 
and the Lord go with you. Write your letter on 
the spot to Miss Dix." She did so. This was on 
Thursday. On the following Sunday she received 
a message from Miss Dix, superintendent of female - 
nurses, requesting her to report on Tuesday at 
Washington. The telegram was announced in the 
various churches of Chelsea Sunday morning, and 
that evening the usual preaching services were ex- 
changed for meetings of prayer and supplication on 
her behalf. 

Mrs. Pomroy's long residence in Chelsea had 
brought her into pleasant relations with a large 
circle of friends, and, for a period of years, hers 
was known as the "afflicted family ; " and when she 
appeared among that assembly of friends, in the 



18 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND "WHITE HOUSE. 

large Congregational church, that Sunday even- 
ing, to exchange farewells, as the first volunteer 
nurse of Chelsea, there was no end of the heartfelt 
sympathy and prayers offered for her. ' There were 
many tears and much handshaking, in the midst of 
which she broke away to snatch a few hours of 
rest before her departure. 

Everything being in readiness, Mrs. Pomroy 
started alone on her journey, Monday morning, 
late in the month of September, 1861, and reported 
herself on Tuesday at Miss Dix's headquarters in 
Washington. 

Here her accommodations were of the most 
meagre kind. She was received by a temporary 
matron, who informed her that Miss Dix was away 
on the battle-field. There was nothing in the 
building to eat, and nothing with which to make a 
fire. Cold water was the only refreshment offered 
to the weary traveller, and she went supperless to 
bed. 

On Wednesday morning Miss Dix made her ap- 
pearance. She received the new-comer pleasantly, 
asked a few questions, then taking a carriage, they 
visited places of interest, stopping at Georgetown 
Hospital. 



HE LEADETH ME. 19 

Finding that a nurse there had been worn out 
by constant care and watching, she at once de- 
cided to leave Mrs. Pomroy to fill the vacancy. 

My heart was hot and restless, 

And my life was full of care. 
And the burden laid upon me 

Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea ; 
And only the sorrow of others 
, Throws its shadow over me. 



CHAPTER II. 



FREE TO SERVE. 



OF work as of greatness, it may be said, some 
are born workers, some become workers, and 
some have their work thrust upon them. 
' Mrs. Pomroy was a born worker. From early 
childhood she was never content unless she was 
doing something for others. At the age of twelve, 
during the summer vacations, it was her delight to 
gather the small children of the neighborhood, 
keeping them two or three hours, amusing them 
by reading, playing games, and gathering flowers. 
Caring for children and making them happy was 
her highest ambition, and so successful was she 
that parents felt relief and satisfaction while the 
little ones were in her charge. At the age of six- 
teen, she became an active member of the Sunday- 
school connected with Father Taylor's Seamen's 
Bethel. It was her practice to visit the families 

20 



II 



FREE TO SERVE. 21 

of the poor seamen, invite the wives and children 
to church and Sunday-school, and when they were 
destitute, provide suitable clothing, not unfre- 
quently soliciting money to procure boots and 
shoes in which they could appear respectable. 
She continued in this labor of love until her mar- 
riage called her away. The years that followed 
were filled with cares and responsibilities, such as 
many a more hardy woman might reasonably have 
shrunk from. Now, as the arduous duties of hos- 
pital life opened before her, it was evident that she 
lacked no qualification and was equal to the occa- 
sion, except as bodily weakness triumphed over 
the willing spirit. Her first experience in George- 
town Hospital we will give in her own words : 

"I was put at once on duty in a ward with fifty 
typhoid patients, and what with the odor and moans 
of the dying, it did seem to me unbearable. As 
the surgeon came round about four o'clock to tell 
me about the medicines, I felt such a faintness that 
I had to be excused and go to my room. After 
partaking of water and throwing myself on a 
miserable little cot, struggling with this dreadful 
weakness, the familiar words, "He that putteth 
his hand to the plough and looketh back," broke 



22 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE &OUSE. 

ill upon my distress, and from my heart of hearts 
I asked the Lord to strengthen me for all that 
awaited me. And that prayer was heard, for I 
was obliged to sit up a part of that night, as the 
soldiers were all tired out. After I resumed duty, 
while passing several rooms, what should greet my 
car but the sound of a sick man's voice calling my 
name. In surprise, I went to his bedside, and he 
burst into tears, crying, ' What sent you here ? ' 
and grasping my hand, he told me his history. He 
was a Chelsea boy, by the name of Stevens ; had 
known me in that city, and used frequently to play 
in my garden with my dear Willie. He had after- 
wards removed to Boston, and had enlisted from 
there early in the war. The fatigue and hardships 
incident to the battle of Bull Run had resulted in 
dysentery and other weaknesses which soon car- 
ried him off. While I was there I gave him all 
the time I could spare, talked and read to him, 
and, to use his own expression, 'it did his very 
soul good to see a woman from home whom he 
had never expected to see again.' . . . 

"In a little room by himself lay a sick boy who 
had been dying several hours. His frequent calls 
for his mother were heart-rending. I watched and 



FREE TO SERVE. 23 

soothed him, gave him the last stimulant, when 
he put his arms around my neck, crying, * Oh, my 
dear mother ! ' and died. I had to call one of the 
watch to release me from the death grasp, then 
another, and not till after a hard struggle did they 
succeed. My first night in a hospital! I can 
never forget it, and how I was sustained. 

** On the next bed I visited lay a young man 
who had had a ball pass through his wrist, and was 
suffering exceedingly, not only mentally but phys- 
ically. He was eighteen years of age, and had 
enlisted without his mother's consent. He would 
not let her know where he was, for *it would 
break her heart,* he said. He was all she had. 
During the days that followed I read and talked 
to him, and advised him to let me write to that 
widowed mother, who lived in Methuen ; but 
'No,' said he, *I shall kill my mother.' Soon 
the litter came to take that dear young man into 
the operating room, where his hand was amputated. 
He burst into tears on his return as he took my 
hand in his remaining one, saying how much I 
reminded him of his mother." 

These are only a few of the many touching inci- 
dents that occurred during her stay at the George- 



24 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

town Hospital. The following Monday she received 
orders from Miss Dix to repair to Columbia Col- 
lege Hospital, where she was enrolled as a nurse. 

The hospital was situated on Meridian Hill, on 
the outskirts of the city of Washington, beautifully 
laid out with driveways, trees, and a fine park in 
the rear of the building. At the time of the civil 
outbreak it was the seat of a flourishing Baptist 
college. From here Doctors Stowe, Neale, and 
other men of talent, had graduated years before, 
when it was in possession of the South. Now, 
seized by government and used as a military hos- 
pital, it had assumed a warlike appearance, sadly 
out of keeping with its original design. At the 
time of Mrs. Pomroy's entrance, ten regiments were 
stationed around the building as a protection 
against the secessionists who had threatened to 
burn it. At night-time drums beat, bands of 
music made the air vocal with national and home 
melodies, while the four outlying hospitals and 
scores of tents gave a festive appearance to the 
scene, contrasting sadly with the groans of the 
dying, the moans of the wounded and the crazy 
paroxysms of typhoid patients within. 

We extract portions of a letter written soon 



FREE TO SERVE. 25 

after Mrs. Pomroy entered the hospital, which give 

a somewhat detailed account of how she found 

things, and her first impressions, dated October 12. 

Dear Sister H. — It is Saturday night, and I am sitting in 
one of my pleasantest rooms, watching over several of my boys. 
You can have no idea of their suffering, even if I should attempt 
to describe it. In the next room are two handsome young men, 
unconscious of suffering, who have been dying all night, and we 
are ignorant about their friends, as they came to us so delirious 
that they knew nothing. We always get their names if possible 
when the ambulance brings them in, that we may telegraph to 
their friends. When they are brought in they are carried to the 
bath room, stripped entirely and washed thoroughly; then they 
are put into bed and the clothing they wore is rolled up, after the 
money, photographs and the like, are taken from their pockets, 
their name marked on their bundle, then, with the sword and 
knapsack, it is put in a shed, on a shelf, until called for. Many 
of our patients are dying of typhoid. Their tongues are black 
and their breath is extremely offensive. While I am writing, a 
New York company is doing escort duty for one who was a patient 
of mine, who is to be buried to-morrow. As many of my bo)^s 
ask me the name of their dead mates, I take the opportunity to 
speak to them of their need of preparation for the same change, 
and they always listen with great attention. I have become famil- 
iar with death. Often I am called at the solemn hour of mid- 
night to stand alone by the bedside of the dying, and close mouth 
and eyes. Many have died clasping my hand tightly. O, dear 
sister, will you ask every friend of mine to pray for the dying 
soldier? The prayers he utters for wife or mother are often 
heart-rending, but I cannot talk to him, for his ears are past all 
sound. I feel that I am placed in a very trying situation. How 
could I do what I am called to if I was not strengthened by an 
unseen hand and fed daily and hourly with the bread of heaven ? 

Our rations are twenty cents a day, one dollar and 

forty cents a week. That money is put into beef, bread, rice, etc., and 
we all go in together and get one of our sick soldiers to cook for 



26 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

us. Of course it is cooked man-fashion. We are not allowed to 
bake bread, cake or pies, but must live like the camp. * We work 
like slaves — work all day and part of the night,' is all I hear 
from the nurses. But I get along very nicely, as I have tea occa- 
sionally from home, and with that and what Miss Dix sends us, L 
feel that I have no reason to complain. ' A contented mind is a 
continual feast.' I am very happy in mind, still have hold of my 
Saviour's hand, and believe he has yet a great work for me to do. 
They have put nie to blistering all the patients under my care, who 
have typhoid, and you must know it is no pleasant task to perform 
for so many soldiers morning and evening ; but they think I do 
just right and the physicians give me much credit. There are 
some among our number who drank from the spring water pois- 
oned by the rebels. Two of our men have already died from the 
effects of it. Our nurses are ten in all. Two each from Ohio, 
New York, Connecticut, Pennsylvania and Massachusetts. We 
all dress just as we please; not, however, without regard to Miss 
Dix's expressed opinion. She sa3's ' she expects a nurse will dress 
according to her work.' We are not allowed out of the hospital 
even to walk on the grounds. We are under government rule, 

surely 

I want the good ladies of Chelsea to knit some thick socks for 
our sick and wounded. Our windows are open night and day, and 
they all complain of the cold. I would like some postage stamps 
for the sick men when they write home, also a boiled ham, as we 
can eat that without cooking ; and some crackers, as the sick men 
cannot eat the poor bread. Your hearts would ache could you 
see two hundred half-starved men getting up from the fever. 
Boxes of fruit, jellies and cologne often come to the nurses of our 
hospital from strangers, and I always give my part to my boys. 
I have twenty-seven men, and to-day they had six grapes apiece, 
and you should see how they snatched at them. I am obliged to 
cut an orange into eight pieces for those who cannot speak a 
word or eat a particle of food. If some of the good people of 
Chelsea will make up a box for the soldiers who are so anxious 
to get well and join their regiments, they will be grateful, I assure 
you, and take up their duties on the field again with a will. My 
love to all. R. R. PoMROY. 



FREE TO SERVE. 27 

The people of that city were not backward in 
responding to this appeal, for early in December 
she writes, '' I have received six boxes from Chel- 
sea, and the contents has been distributed in the 
best manner possible. Could Mrs. L. have seen 
the grateful smiles with which her gift of the 
grapes and wine were received, she would have 
felt amply repaid. 

"Thirteen of my soldier boys went to the conva- 
lescent hospital in Baltimore, last week. Some of 
them, when sent here, had been given over by 
their physicians, but God blessed the means used 
for their recovery, and they were able to leave 
and make room for sicker patients. As they each 
took my hand to say Good-by, they said they 
should never forget that name, Chelsea, and When 
the war was over, if their lives were spared, they 
would find out more about the place, by visiting it." 
She speaks farther of receiving short visits from 
Reverend Doctor M., Messrs. B. and S., and Mayor 
Fay, all from there, and sends the following bit 
of poetry, written by one of her fellow nurses : 

What do we live for ? 

Live to be nurses, 

Watching sick soldiers at Columbia Hall ; 



28 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

Soothing their heartaches, 

Stilling their curses, 

Breathing a prayer to the Father of all. 

What do we live for ? 

Live for the mothers 

Who send their brave sons at Liberty's call, 

To die on the battlefield, 

Or, living as brothers, 

Here claiming our kindness, given to all. 

What do we live for ? 

Live for the sisters 

Whose glory and pride we find in our camps, 

Who, sick with the fever. 

We poultice and blister, 

Returning them weekly in health to the ranks. 

What do we live for ? 

The wives and the maidens 

Whose patriot duty is staying at home, 

Earnestly praying 

That with victory laden. 

Husband and lover with Union will come. 

From another letter, dated December 31, we 
quote the following : *'As I take a glance at my 
])atients, and hear the moan of distress and the 
sharp cry of suffering, I often wish that friends 
could look in and see how carefully our boys are 



FREE TO SERVE. 29 

watched and their wants attended to by faithful 
nurses. It is not all sad either. We have our 
reward, not in dollars and cents, but in the looks 
of satisfaction that prevail. Kind words at the 
outset often drive away the patient's fears on com- 
ing into the hospital 

"During the three months I have been here I 
have received seven boxes from Chelsea, two from 
Newton Corner, one from G. P. Smith of Boston, 
one from the West Newton Congregational Church, 
and one from the Tremont Street Methodist. Up 
to this time I have received eighty-six letters. 
To the most important I have endeavored to reply, 
and to write for my boys to their afflicted friends, 
which makes in all one hundred and twenty-two 
letters 

" Two weeks since I had notice to prepare beds 
for twenty-six patients sick with measles. It was 
heartsickening to see how many of them came 
up to my ward, helpless, upon litters. They were 
of the Eleventh Maine, all of them fine, stout men 
when they left home. One of them cried out 
on seeing me, *What will my poor mother say 
when I am laid away from her.^' One of my 
measley boys, after getting through with it, was 



30 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

taken down with small-pox. I was ordered to 
take care of him alone all one night, till the sur- 
geon in charge came, and then such excitement ! 
The man was sent to the small-pox hospital, and 
order was given for his nurse to be vaccinated 
without delay, then to commence at the top of 
the building and vaccinate all the patients. I 
have a very lame arm, and shall be sure of one 
scar to remind me of my college days. As a 
result of the exposure, a boy was soon stricken 
down with small-pox. Our Sabbath was all con- 
fusion and excitement. The patient was kept 
in our midst till Monday noon, then carried to 
the small-pox hospital, perhaps to die like the 
one I cared for, who lived only a few hours after 
I gave him the parting hand." 

When the Eleventh Maine boys were brought in 
with measles, they were under quarantine, as was 
their attendant. She could only go from the sick 
ward to her meals. The disease made great havoc 
in the regiment, more than one hundred dying 
out of it. Among all the men who came under 
her care, none were so strictly temperate as the 
Eleventh Maine. The surgeons insisted that they 
should be stimulated with wine and brandy, but 



/ 

FREE TO SERVE. 31 

many totally refused it. One little fellow said 
to Mrs. Pomroy, '' I'll die sooner than take it, for 
I promised my mother that I would not take a 
drop." He lived, while as a rule, those who took 
stimulants died. 

Among these Maine boys was the bugler of 
the regiment. Wasting away, week by week, the 
poor fellow had become a mere skeleton. It was 
evident that his hours were numbered, and when 
he became conscious of the fact, he called for 
Mrs. Pomroy and said, " Mother, can I have my 
bugle.?" 

She immediately despatched an attendant to 
get an order from the surgeon on the ward 
to have it brought up. The beloved bugle 
was found, brightly burnished, and given to the 
dying boy. Too weak to hold it in his ema- 
ciated and nerveless hands, it was sustained by 
the attendant and put to his lips. 

As he concentrated the little energy left in 
his poor weak body for the final effort, while his 
face brightened and the old fire came into his 
eye, two or three weak strains wavered and died 
away like echoes of the lofty tones that once 
breathed through it, his hands fell, the breath 
ceased, and the last bugle call had been sounded. 



32 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

Mrs. Pomroy writes at the commencement of 
the year 1862 as follows: 

*'The first day of January was ushered in by 
a "Happy New Year" from nearly all my boys. 
As I entered my room quite early in the morn- 
ing, and passed from one bed to another, I felt 
there were some who would stay but a few days 
to enjoy the new year. 

" On the third morning I was called to the 
bedside of my youngest boy, who had a very 
sick night, and, as he took hold of my hand, 
asked me if I thought he would ever get well. 
There had been a marked change during the 
night, and I had my fears that he would not 
live through the day. I told him he was very 
sick, and asked him if there was anything I 
could do for him. 

*" If I could see my dear mother and my little 
sister Lucy only once more, I should be happy.' 

"The tears fell thick and fast, and there was 
•a struggle. After he got calmer he asked me 
to read from the Bible, which I did, and then 
complied with his request for prayer. He then 
fell asleep, and I left him to go to my three 
other very sick men, whose time with us was 
short. When I came to his bedside again, he 



FREE TO SERVE. 33 

awoke and told me he had dreamed that he 
had seen the Saviour, who told him that he 
would take him to Heaven that day. He called 
all the boys round him, told them to prepare 
to meet him in Heaven, and bade them all good- 
by as though he were going on some pleasant 
journey. I shall never forget the sweetness of 
his face as he said : 

Jesus can make a dying bed 
Feel soft as downy pillows are, 

and, *Good-by, Nurse! we shall meet again.* 
I cannot tell you the gratitude he expressed for 
all that had been done for him. A few min- 
utes before he died he desired his nurse to 
take one hand in hers and place her other 
upon his heart until it ceased to bea^.. 

"*Tell my other mother when you write, that 
you felt my last heart throb.' 

" Soon after he cried out, ' Glory to God in 
the highest ! I'm going home.' Dear boy ! just 
as our evening candles were lighted, his spirit 
took its departure where there is no need of light, 
even of the sun or moon. It was Saturday even- 
ing, and my sweet-faced little soldier was carried 



34 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

from my sight to the home for the dead. I 
returned to my chamber and wept. 

" I was soon summoned to the bedside of another 
who was not expected to Hve through the night. 
His last request was to be sent home to ^, his 
friends, and he had given me his final farewell. 
He belonged to the same regiment, and was a 
member of the band. His death was peaceful and 
happy, and the music of earth was exchanged 
for that of Heaven. Two days after, another left 
me. He was peaceful and trusting, and requested 
me to look after his clothing and keepsakes, and 
to write to his wife and two sweet children, telling 
them he should never see them more on earth, 
but asking them to prepare to meet him in 
Heaven. The next day — and must I tell the sad 
tale ? — my fourth boy (all of the Eleventh Maine) 
called me to his bedside and said, * You have been 
the only mother I have had since I left home. 
May God bless you in this world and in the world 
to come, for being such a good friend to us poor 
soldiers. God bless you ! ' fell again from his 
lips — the last words he spoke. 

" These first two weeks of the new year have 
witnessed much suffering and death. Great 



FREE TO SERVE. 35 

credit is due the colonel of the Eleventh Maine 
regiment, as he visited my boys twice a day, 
and brought in the surgeon of his regiment to 
see if anything more could be done for those 
who were struggling hard for life. 

"On Saturday afternoon the nurses and attend- 
ants rode to the station to follow the remains 
of a dear young man who had been an attendant 
since July, in the hospital. He was unusually 
polite and refined, very kind to the sick — was with 
them night and day, always wearing a smiling 
face. His nurse thought there was none like 
James. He had been her patient, and on his 
partial recovery had been detailed as her attend- 
ant. A week's sickness, and the clergyman's 
only son was called away to a higher service. 
How we all sympathized with our Massachusetts 
nurse, who wept for him like a sister for a brother. 

*'Two gentlemen from Boston called Sabbath 
evening, and, for the first time, we had a prayer 
and praise meeting. Forty boys were present, two 
physicians and five nurses. It seemed homelike 
to our boys as the familiar hymns were sung from 
the Soldier's Hymn Book, and it was a season 
of refreshing for us nurses to have anything of 



36 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

the kind in which we could participate. Among 
the number who took part were two of the sol- 
diers, who spoke earnestly to their fellow-com- 
rades The first Sunday in January 

I was awakened by the band playing Nellie Gray 
and Dixie^ and at eight o'clock our national flag 
was raised in front of the hospital." 

Sunday was usually a gala day at Columbia 
College. All the regiments appeared on dress 
parade, and the bands played all the popular 
national airs. In the near distance sparkled 
the blue Potomac in the sunshine, making it a 
scene from Mrs. Pomroy's front window never 
to be forgotten by the invalid soldier. Within 
the room her thoughtful sympathy created an 
atmosphere in their midst which was truly a 
Sabbath benediction. 

Their baths were taken the night before, and they 
were dressed in clean linen, hair and beards were 
trimmed by the barber, their beds supplied with 
fresh sheets and white spreads, while clean white 
handkerchiefs, scented with cologne, were put in 
the hands of each invalid. Then, after attending to 
their several wants, she would take the Bible, and 
with the reading combine many tender applica- 



FREE TO SERVE. 37 

tions, much motherly advice and comfort that went 
straight to the hearts of her soldier boys. As the 
day wore on, those who were able wrote letters to 
the home friends, or read from the books and papers 
with which they were amply supplied. 

Mrs. Pomroy's room was an upper one, the larg- 
est and pleasantest among them all, and accom- 
modated thirty patients. The large bay-window 
was kept filled with house-plants, the table in 
the centre held "mother's "work-box, for the boys 
wanted it there to make the place seem homelike. 
Here she taught them to sew and mend their stock- 
ings, and here, when time passed heavily with the 
impatient convalescents, they beguiled the weary 
hours at a game of dominoes. Thirty pictures, the 
gift of thoughtful friends, decorated the walls. A 
favorite one for study and reflection was a fine 
one of ** Pilgrim's Progress." **Maud Muller" was 
another favorite with the boys. 

Several among the New York Zouaves, who had 
been in the habit of decorating churches, had orna- 
mented the walls with evergreen mottoes. Among 
the number were, ''Our Boys in Blue," ''Gettys- 
burg," " We honor the Brave " and the like. No pains 
was spared by Mrs. Pomroy to make the surroundings 



38 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

of her patients as attractive and homelike as pos- 
sible. Governor Andrew, coming jn one day, 
remarked on the cleanliness and taste of the sur- 
roundings, and said, "If I were sick I should like to 
come here and lie." She was known as "the 
mother who loved her boys;" and it was no won- 
der they gave her their confidence and loyal devo- 
tion in return. 

Among those who regarded her with the deepest 
gratitude was one Barnet, belonging, to the Black 
Horse Cavalry of Michigan. For weeks he had 
languished with typhoid. One night the surgeon 
on his rounds said it was useless to do anything 
more for him. " He will not last till morning ; 
don't sit up wasting your strength over him ; you 
are foolish to spend so many sleepless nights with 
your boys." His two brothers, officers in the same 
regiment, had been in to look upon him for the last 
time. But something told his nurse to make 
one more efi'ort for the dying man. Already the 
cold, clammy sweat that precedes death was upon 
him. A faint flutter of the heart was the only 
sign of life. Mrs. Pomroy went to her stores for 
milk and wine, prepared a punch and put a tea- 
spoonful to his lips. 



FREE TO SERVE. 39 

She waited a few minutes, saw that his heart 
still feebly pulsated, and that his extremities 
were slightly warmer, and gave another spoon- 
ful, meanwhile applying hot flannels and a jug 
of hot water to his feet. She was rewarded 
by seeing, with repeated applications, warmth 
and animation returning. The surgeon on his 
morning rounds expected to find him dead, and 
said, "What have you been doing to him. Nurse.?" 

She told him what she had done, thinking 
that he was so near death that it could at 
least do him no harm. He said, *' That's right ; 
keep on, and I think he'll pull through ! " And 
so he did. His term of convalescence ended 
in a few weeks, and he was granted a furlough. 

She says, on relating the incident, "I never 
expected to see my Michigan boy again ; but 
one day, three years afterwards, on getting into 
a crowded horse car, coming from Baltimore, a 
a fine-looking soldier, with shoulder-straps, beck- 
oned me across the car to take his seat. Weak 
and weary, I was only too glad to do so, when 
he stood erect before me, saying, * Mother, don't 
you know me } ' I said * no : are you one of 
my soldier boys?* 'Yes,' he replied, 'I'm Bar- 



40 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

net, whom the doctor gave up ; I owe my 
life to you.' 

I never shall forget the animation of his fine, 
manly face and figure as he poured forth his 
gratitude to me in that crowded horse car, told 
me how he had become a Christian while under 
my care, had, on his recovery, married the girl 
of his heart, and had come back to be pro- 
moted and serve his country to the end." 

Another young fellow, transferred to Mrs. 
Pomroy's ward from Washington, was so 
reduced by army exposure as to be very sick, 
and supposed to be dying of consumption. For 
weeks his patient nurse had watched the ebb 
and flow of life, till there seemed to be little 
or nothing to build hope upon. The surgeon 
finally said, " He is past all help. Don't give 
him any more medicine ; his time is short." 
The poor fellow's mouth was raw with scurvy. 

One day he called his nurse and said, " Mother, 
I want some pickle. Can't I have some?" 
Touched with what seemed his last request, 
she despatched her attendant to Washington 
for a jar of them. She cut half a pickle 
into little pieces and fed him with it, reason- 



FEEE TO SERVE. 41 

ing within herself, " He cannot live without it, 
and he can no more than die if I give it 
to him." 

She found him alive the next morning, anx- 
ious for more pickle, and she gave him half 
of another. He seemed to grow brighter and 
stronger, and she gave him a whole one the 
next day. Whether it was the pickles, or some 
other unknown agency, God blessed the means 
of recovery to this poor boy, and he was able 
to be sent to the Convalescent Hospital shortly 
after, from whence he joined his regiment. 

These are only some of the many instances 
in which Mrs. Pomroy saved the lives of 
men given over by their physicians. There 
was something in her calm courage and sweet, 
womanly sympathy, that imparted life-giving 
energy to these forlorn, despairing men. An 
instance in point was the case of a badly 
wounded soldier who, for the first time, was 
brought into a hospital. All hope had faded 
out of his heart when he learned that he was 
to be carried to that dreadful place where life 
was estimated to be held so cheap. His two 
companions took him upon a stretcher and laid 



42 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

him upon his bed in Mrs. Pomroy's ward, 
where he burst into tears. '* Here, Jim," he 
said, "take my watch, I sha'n't need it any 
more. Take all my things, for I sha'n't stay 
here long." 

At this Mrs. Pomroy stooped over him and 
said, "Now, my boy, look here, you are going 
to get well. Most all the boys in my ward 
do, and I'll do all I can for you. Don't give 
up your watch ; you'll want it in a little while, 
it will be so much company for you. I'll take 
care of it, with your money and your photo- 
graphs, and you shall have them again when 
you want them." 

For the first time he regarded her with a 
look of interest, and said, "Have you got a 
boy.?" "Yes," she answered, ''and he's on the 
battle-field. I expect him to be brought to me 
at any time." 

With that the light came into his beauti- 
ful blue eyes ; his voice gathered strength 
as he remarked to his comrades, ** Well, I'll 
let you keep the watch and things. Come 
round and see me in a day or two, and I'll 
try and weather it." Every day for a week 



FREE TO SERVE. 43 

or more the boys came round. The third day 
they found him bright and cheerful. His 
wounds were doing well, and his watch was 
his constant companion. The luxury of a nurse 
with a son on the battle-field, who came round 
and bade him ** good-night " as mother used to, 
was what he had not expected. He was soon 
able to join his regiment. 

With all the sad sights and sounds incident 
to hospital life, many, a rare bit of fun or joke 
at one another's expense, took off the keen 
edge of homesickness that beset the soldier 
when he was convalescing. The following 
instance is one of many. 

During the first few months, of Mrs. Pom- 
roy's sojourn in Columbia College, Catholic 
priests were the only spiritual advisers and com- 
forters allowed there, as the surgeon general, 
most of the physicians and stewards, were Cath- 
olics. Consequently, they were allowed ingress 
at any time. It had been the custom of one of 
these priests to come into the college weekly 
to hear confession, and to anoint the dying 
boys if there were any Catholics, or others who 
would permit it. 



44 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

Late one Saturday afternoon he made his 
appearance in Mrs. Pomroy's ward, alto- 
gether the worse for hquor. He was a man 
sixty years old. His apparel was doubtless 
contraband, for he wore a battered stove-pipe 
hat, and an old, faded green overcoat. His 
shoes were so large for him that they clat- 
tered on the floor at each step, while his 
dilapidated gold-headed cane rattled an accom- 
paniment as he swaggered across the room, 
much to the amusement of the boys who, as 
many as were able, propped themselves up on 
one elbow to see what was going to be done. 

He inquired of the nurse if any were going 
to die. She told him that one or two were 
near their end, one of whom she was standing 
over at the time. Thereupon he said he was 
going to prepare him, and with his unsteady 
fingers, attempted to cross the- boy's hands 
upon his breast, taking up a tumbler of water 
that stood by, for the purpose of baptizing 
him. 

''That is not holy water," said Mrs. Pom- 
roy, "it's the water he has been drinking from." 

Nothing daunted, the priest seized a basin of 



FREE TO SERVE. 45 

water, nearly upsetting it in his shaking hand. 
" That is not holy water ; he has just been 
washed in it," said Mrs. Pomroy, "and besides, 
my boys are all Protestants, and don't wish to 
be baptized." "He must be, or he won't go 
to Heaven," said the priest, growing very red 
and excited. "I cannot allow it," said she. 
"I am here to be a mother to these boys. I 
stand here in their mothers' places, and not 
one of them would wish to have it done." 

The priest, by this time, had worked himself 
up into a fever of passion, and exclaimed, " I'll 
have yer expelled! I'll have yer expelled!" But 
what with the determined manner of the nurse 
and his own inability to hold himself or any- 
thing else steady, he gave over the contest with 
this threat, and left the room shaking with 
passion, while the boys shook with laughter. 

As he closed the door, a voice shouted, 
"Mother has gained the victory! Three cheers 
for our mother!" The feeling of triumph, 
however, soon gave way to alarm, for the 
Catholic tendencies of officers in charge were 
well known. 

"You'll surely have to leave," they said to 



46 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

Mrs. Pomroy. "Well," she replied, "I have 
done only my duty, and I'll leave the conse- 
quences to my Heavenly Father." But there 
were strong presumptions for supposing that 
she would be expelled for disobeying orders, 
and with some trepidation she awaited the con- 
sequences, commencing to pack her trunk for 
the expected removal. 

The next day the surgeon in charge, from 
Washington, and his staff of inspecting officers, 
were expected on their usual Sunday round. 
The floor, the beds, and the men were looking 
their best, and she sat reading to her boys 
as though nothing unusual was anticipated. 
To her great surprise, however, the surgeon 
in charge walked in at the head of his force, 
smiling very graciously, and saying, " How's 
the Happy Family this morning.''" They com- 
plimented her on the neatness of her ward, 
expressed their satisfaction with everything, 
and went out without once referring to the 
ominous subject. There was rejoicing and con- 
gratulation among the boys and nurse on 
their departure. 

Mrs. Pomroy was frequently spoken of as 



FREE TO SERVE. 47 

the " quiet nurse," not simply on account of 
her gentle, restful demeanor among the sick, 
but for the manner in which she resisted all 
attempts to be drawn into idle contentions 
with her fellow-ofBcers. She was, notwith- 
standing, firm and fearless in a matter of 
principle, and was none the less known as 
the woman who always carried her point. 
Among the many grades of officers and 
employees of the hospital, there was often 
wrangling and brow-beating, the shoulder-straps 
generally carrying the day. Many a poor 
attendant, or humble nurse, lost his or her 
position from seeing or exposing too much of 
the injustice done to the helpless soldier 
through theft and bribery. It is a well-known 
and disgraceful fact that many a hospital and 
sanitary official made himself wealthy at the 
expense of sick and dying men under his 
charge. 

Mrs. Pomroy had been in the hospital three 
months, and during that time their daily ra- 
tions from the mess room included a poor 
quality of beef for dinner, hard-bread, and a 
miserable grade of tea and coffee. Forty hun- 



48 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

gry convalescents were getting up from ty- 
phoid, and her private stores, sent by Chelsea 
friends and others, went but little ways toward 
affording relief among so many. She drew from 
her own personal resources that she might ob- 
tain delicacies that they craved, but there was 
much grumbling and dissatisfaction for the want 
of more and better meat. 

Finally an intelligent, outspoken Massachu- 
setts boy said : " I know we are being cheated 
out of our allowance, for we are entitled 
by government to a certain amount of meat 
for each day, and if we can't get it, I will 
write on to Boston to Governor Andrew and 
see if something cannot be done." 

Mrs. Pomroy despatched an orderly for the 
book containing Army and Navy Regula- 
tions, and there ascertained the truth of his 
assertion. Thereupon she determined to act. 
Obtaining an order from the attendant sur- 
geon, she sent her assistant down to the 
steward, asking if her boys could have meat 
for breakfast. The steward, indignant, said, 
**Mrs. Pomroy can't have it; it's not allowed. 
She is the most extravagant nurse we have." 



FREE TO SERVE. 49 

Nothing daunted, she made application to 
the surgeon in charge. He received her very 
graciously, having just partaken of his own 
midday meal. She told him of the necessities 
of her convalescent patients, and asked him 

if government did not allow ounces 

of meat per day. He evinced some embar- 
rassment, said that **he believed there was 
a provision somewhere of that kind, but the 
number to be fed was so large, and the army 
expenses so great, that it was impossible to 
furnish it." 

"But," said she, "is there not an appropri- 
ation of money intended to cover it } " 

The fact could not be denied, and he said 
evasively, "If it is supplied to your ward, it 
will have to be given to all the rest." 

"And why should it not be.?" she questioned. 
**They need it as well as mine. Doctor," she 
continued, "there are some pretty smart boys 
in my ward, who think there is more than 
one officer engaged in defrauding them of 
their just dues, and if the thing is not 
righted soon, something will be done about 
it." Here the doctor became very pliable, and 



50 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

said that there should be no further trouble. 
He gave orders to the steward that day, and 
the next morning the welcome odor of fried 
steak surprised the inmates of Columbia Col- 
lege. 

She was known among the patients there- 
after, as **the woman who got us the beef." 

If sweet below 
To minister to those whom God doth love, 
What will it be to minister above 1 



CHAPTER III. 

CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 

WE now come to that period in Mrs. 
Pomroy's life which brought her into 
close relationship with the beloved head of the 
nation, Abraham Lincoln. Universal interest 
centres around this portion of her history, for 
through her familiar intercourse with him and 
his family we get into closer relationship with 
the inner workings of his mind and heart, 
only the results of which are known to the 
world at large. 

At the time of which we write, the affairs 
of the nation lay heavy upon his heart. 

Nearly a year had passed since the com- 
mencement of the war, and though the Federal 
forces had gained some valuable points, no 
deadly blow had been struck at the rebellion. 
Congress was getting restive under the inac- 

51 



52 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

tivity of the army in front of the Capitol. 
The country at large was equally impatient 
that McClellan had accomplished so little. The 
President needed all the firmness that he could 
command to stand at the helm, give the 
country confidence and courage and parry the 
blows of his own party as well as those of 
the enemy. 

In the midst of all this a most distressing 
grief had settled upon his household. 

His second son, Willie, was taken sick, and 
after a brief illness breathed his last. His 
youngest son was expected to die at any hour, 
and Mrs. Lincoln was lying sick in bed. 

When Miss Dix called to see what aid she 
could render the unhappy household, the phy- 
sicians were advising that ''Little Tad" and 
Mrs. Lincoln have better attendance, as there 
was no one to care for them but Mr. Lincoln 
and poor old aunt Mary, a colored nurse, 
formerly a slave in the family of Jeff Davis. 
The President asked Miss Dix if she could 
recommend to him a good nurse. She told 
him there was one out of her corps of nurses 
that she thought would give him perfect satis- 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 53 

faction. On inquiry, she told him it was Mrs. 
Pomroy. " Oh, yes," he said, " I have heard 
of her; will you get her for me?" 

Miss Dix's carriage was in attendance, and 
she immediately drove to Columbia College, and 
told the surgeon in charge that she was going 
to take one of his nurses to the White House. 
The surgeon expressed his regret, but could not 
do otherwise than give his consent, and Mrs. 
Pomroy was summoned. She remonstrated with 
Miss Dix on the score of her inefficiency ; with 
a plea for the sick men under her care, some 
of whom had only a few days of life allotted 
them. But it was of no use. She was under 
military rule, and was only given ten minutes 
to get ready. 

To the boys, who exclaimed with one voice, 
** Don't leave us. Nurse," she gave the parting 
hand, adjusted the pillows of those near death 
for the last time, and left with Miss Dix for 
the White House. 

This sudden and unlooked-for experience filled 
her mind with strange and sorrowful appre- 
hensions, and the tears coursed down her 
face as she thought '' Oh, if I could only have 



54 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

Staid with my boys ! " But Miss Dix said, 
" Dear child, you don't know what the Lord 
has in store for you. Others can look after 
your boys, but I have chosen you out of two 
hundred and fifty nurses to make yourself 
useful to the head of the nation. What a 
privilege is yours ! " 

On their arrival they visited the Green Room, 
where Willie's remains lay in state, and then 
passed on to the President's chamber, where 
Mrs. Lincoln was lying sick, the President sit- 
ting beside her. He gave her a warm grasp 
of the hand, and said, " I am heartily glad to 
see you, and feel that you can comfort us and 
the poor sick boy." She was soon taken to 
the sick room of little Tad, introduced to the 
two physicians who sat in the hall just out- 
side his door, who before leaving gave direc- 
tions regarding medicine and treatment for 
every half-hour in the night. 

At half-past six the President came in and 
invited her down to dine with him ; but she 
kept her station by the bedside of the little 
sufferer, who lay tossing with typhoid, and at 
intervals weeping for his dear brother Willie, 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 55 

"who would never speak to him any more." 
The President came in about ten o'clock, sat 
down on the opposite side of the bed, and 
commenced inquiries. "Are you Miss or Mrs..? 
What of your family ? " 

She says, " I told him I had a husband and 
two children in the other world, and a son on 
the battle-field." "What is your age.? What 
prompted you to come so far to look after 
these poor boys ? " She told him of her nine- 
teen years' education in the school of affliction, 
and that after her loved ones had been laid 
away, and the battle-cry had been sounded, noth- 
ing remained but for her to go, so strong was 
her desire. " Did you always feel that you 
could say, * Thy will be done .? * " 

And here the father's heart seemed agonized 
for a reply. 

She said, "No; not at the first blow, nor at 
the second. It was months after my affliction 
that God met me when at a camp-meeting." 

Here he showed great interest* and, she says, 
" While I was telling him my history, and, above 
all, of God's love and care for me through it 
all, he covered his face with his hands while 



56 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

the tears streamed through his fingers. Then 
he told me of his dear Willie's sickness and 
death. In walking the room, he would say: 
*This is the hardest trial of my life. Why 
is it ? Oh, why is it .? ' I tried to comfort him 
by telling him there were thousands of prayers 
going up for him daily. He said, 'I am glad 
of that.' Then he gave way to another out- 
burst of grief. 

**The next night he seated himself in the 
same position, and begged me to go over the 
same recital, leaving nothing out. He would 
question me upon special points to learn how 
I obtained my faith in God, and the secret 
of placing myself in the Divine hands. Again, 
on the third night, he made a similar request, 
showing the same degree of interest as at 
first." 

On the fourth day the body of Willie was 
laid away, and Mrs. Pomroy writes of it as 
follows: "The funeral procession was preceded 
by twelve pall bearers, wearing a yard of 
white silk, with long ends tied around their 
hats, and wreaths of flowers on their arms. 
Then came the hearse, drawn' by two white 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 57 

horses ; the President's private carriage, drawn 
by two black horses ; the secretaries and their 
families, a large number of private carriages, 
and last of all, the colored help. I never 
saw anything so imposing." 

Little Tad took kindly to his new nurse, 
and at first would have no one do for him 
but his father and her; but as he grew better, 
her desire to see and comfort her sick boys 
made her anxious to return to them. The 
President, however, would not dismiss her from 
his home entirely, but arranged to carry her 
daily to the hospital. "Tad finally became 
convalescent," she writes, ''and when I left 
them to go to my poor sick boys, Mrs. Lin- 
coln kissed me and urged Miss Dix to let 
me come often and see them." A large col- 
lection of flowers was cut from the conserva- 
tory for her room in the hospital, and Mr. 
Lincoln accompanied her. During their con- 
versation he told her how much good she had 
done him, and how encouraged he felt through 
her ministrations. He said, "When you get to 
be an old lady, Mrs. Pomroy, tell your grand- 
children how indebted the nation was to you 



58 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

in holding up my hands in time of trouble." 
Soon after her return she writes the fol- 
lowing, under date of March nth: — 

"I am better than when I last wrote, but 
I have more on my mind than I have ever 
had since I came to the hospital. We have 
parted with three of the nurses who would 
not answer, and another dear nurse by death. 
She died from fatigue. She was overtaxed, 
and would not go home to take rest till she 
was called to her final one. I am doing the 
work of three nurses. I am placed in charge 
of the fourth floor, including eighty beds, which 
is more than I feel able to look after; but 
there has been so much trouble about the 
nurses that, God helping me, I will do all that 
in me lies. . . Yesterday I rode to the 
Sanitary Commission, in Washington, and from 
there went to the White House to spend the 
day. 

" Mrs. Lincoln secludes herself from all so- 
ciety, and I was alone with her most of the 
•day in her room. When I told her of my 
trials and afflictions, and, above all, of God's 
dealings with me, she could not understand 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 59 

how I could be so happy under it all, and 
bursting into tears, said she wished she could 
feel so too. She told the gardener to cut me 
a bouquet of the richest flowers in the con- 
servatory. At four o'clock the President ordered 
his horses and open carriage, invited me to 
ride, and then took me home, to the surprise 
of all in the hospital. He was not ashamed 
to be seen riding with the Chelsea nurse, 
neither was she elated by riding with the 
President. 

"Dear Mrs. F., how mysteriously God works. 
Two years since, in the seclusion of my little 
home, I was encouraging my husband to have 
confidence in God when the time of our sep- 
aration should come, and now it was given me 
to tell Mr. Lincoln in my poor, weak way how 
wonderfully the Lord had sustained me and 
brought me out of darkness into light. I bade 
him take courage in this his time of trial, 
when God was preparing him to stand firm in 
duty for the salvation of his country. I shall 
never forget how the tears coursed down his 
cheeks as I spoke of God's love in affliction, 
and I besought him to cast his burden upon 



60 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

him. He told me on parting that he enjoyed 
my visits, to come often, and he would see me 
home." 

In another letter, dated March 27th, she writes 
as follows : " I was called to go to Washing- 
ton to get some more clothing for my boys, 
and I succeeded in securing a large supply of 
things which was very pleasing to the officers 
and nurses. 

*'From the Sanitary Rooms I went to the 
White House and spent the day. Mrs. Lincoln 
gave me pictures for my ward, photographs 
of Willie and Tad, also several dollars' worth of 
pot plants for my bay window, fruit, and other 
luxuries for the boys. The President ordered 
carriage and horses to accompany me to the 
College." 

An incident occurred on their way home 
which illustrates the homely dignity that 
accompanied his characteristic kindness of heart. 
There had been a severe shower the night 
before, and on going up Fourteenth street the 
horses became unmanageable, while the car- 
riage got fast in the mud. Mr. Lincoln told 
the driver to hold one horse, while the foot- 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 61 

man held the other, till he could get out. 
He succeeded in finding three large stones, 
and, with his pantaloons stripped to his knees, 
and boots covered with mud, he laid the 
stones down and bore his weight upon them. 
On coming to the carriage he said, " Now, 
Mrs. Pomroy, if you will please put your feet 
just as I tell you, you can reach the sidewalk 
in safety." Taking hold of her hand, he helped 
her to the sidewalk, then, looking up, he said, 
''All through life, be sure and put your feet 
in the right place, and then stand firing After 
the carriage was righted, the President looked 
at his muddy boots in a laughing way, saying, 
I have always heard of Washington mud, and 
now I shall take home some as a sample." 

It was a well-known fact at that time, that 
President Lincoln was not connected with any 
church, and the idea had gained currency that 
he was an infidel. Happily, these false asper- 
sions have long since given way to a clearer 
apprehension of the truth, and Mrs. Pomroy 
has done no little towards righting public 
opinion. In the confidence of the sick room, 
bowed under the heavy burden of national 



62 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

calamity and family bereavement, they talked 
as friend to friend, and the troubled heart 
would give vent to words not to be misun- 
derstood. Mr. Lincoln was not the man to 
say things for effect One day, while leaving 
the little sufferer in the sick room, to go to 
his office, he said, *'I hope you will pray for 
him, that he may be spared, if it is God's 
will ; and also for me, for I need the prayers 
of many." 

Again she relates: **When the sad duty 
came of laying his dear son Willie out of 
sight, my heart prompted me to say, *Look 
up for strength;' and he kindly answered, 
*I shall go to God with my sorrows.'" She 
says, "It was his custom, while waiting for 
lunch, to take his mother's old worn Bible 
and lie on the lounge and read. One day 
he asked me which book I liked to read best, 
and I told him I was fond of the Psalms. 
'Yes,' said he, *they are the best, for I find 
in them something for every day in the 
week. And,' he continued, *I had a good 
Christian mother, and her prayers have thus 
far followed me throufrh.'" 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 63 

As the officers of the hospital were mostly 
Catholics, they were bitterly opposed to the 
holding of any Protestant service, consequently 
that first prayer meeting was followed by strict 
orders that it should not be repeated, on pen- 
alty of dismissal. While at the White House, 
Mrs. Pomroy asked and obtained permission 
to have them continued in her ward, the 
President remarking, " If there was more pray- 
ing and less swearing, our country would be 
safer. We all need to be prayed for, officers 
as well as privates, and if I were near death, 
I should like to hear prayer." 

WHile stopping in the President's family, she 
was waited upon by two young ladies from 
Washington, who came to volunteer their assist- 
ance in organizing and carrying forward a sol- 
diers' prayer meeting in her ward. Shortly 
after her return to the hospital she writes 
that a meeting had been held on Sunday 
afternoon, and that two young ladies assisted, 
who sang very sweetly to the boys. Among 
their songs was the ** Soldier's Tear," which 
ever afterwards was a great favorite with 
them. 



64 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

These ladies were the Misses Rumsey. Miss 
Elida, the older sister, in connection with 
Mr. John A. Fowle, whom she afterwards 
married, was especially active in promoting 
the welfare and happiness of the soldiers, vis- 
iting them daily, through sunshine and storm, 
ministering not only to their bodily wants, 
but supplying food for the intellects and souls 
of these men who had never been so much 
in need of it as now. 

Stated meetings were held in Mrs. Pomroy's 
ward, and afterwards in the mess-room, where 
five or six hundred soldiers would sometimes 
gather. Here Mr. Fowle often led the meet- 
ings, and the Misses Rumsey would electrify 
their audience with their soul-stirring, patriotic 
melodies, or melt them to tears with the sweet 
familiar hymns they used to hear at home. Their 
philanthropic efforts finally led to a grant of 
land from the President, in Judiciary Square, 
upon which they built The Soldiers' Free Li- 
brary. It grew out of the needs of the army 
encamped about Washington, and answered 
its purpose most admirably. 

It not only served as library and reading- 



II 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE- 65 

room, but had accommodations for singing-school 
and for prayer and conference meetings. 

It had articles of membership, the third and 
last of which read, " I solemnly pledge myself 
to abstain from profane language, from alcoholic 
drinks as a beverage, and from all other vices 
in the army and camp, and will be a true 
soldier of my country and the cross." 

Mr. Fowle was the author of several patriotic 
songs, among which "The Rebel Flag," set 
to the tune of " The Sword of Bunker Hill," 
was always received with the most unbounded 
admiration by the boys. We insert it on the 
ground of its intrinsic merit. 

THE REBEL FLAG. 

Sadly we gazed upon the flag, 

Torn from our brothers' hands, 
And shed a tear for those once loved, 

Now joined to traitor bands. 
They've put our flag beneath their feet, 

They've trailed it ia the dust, 
And to the breeze their flag unfurled, 

And placed it in their trust. 

Mark what a treacherous deed it was 
From the good old flag to turn. 



66 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

With us they dwelt beneath its folds, 

But now its stars they spurn. 
They've left the flag of Washington, 

The flag our fathers gave ; 
A richer boon was never given, 

Or prouder flag to wave. 

But when the traitors raised their flag 

And marshalled for the fight, 
Six hundred thousand freemen rose 

To battle for the right. 
Then to our God the prayer went up — 

Protect our noble band; 
God blessed our cause, our flag now waves 

Within the traitor's land. 

Then down, down, with the rebel flag, 

Tread it beneath your feet, 
And gayly to the breeze unfurl. 

That flag we love to greet. 
Wave on, ye glorious Stars and Stripes, ' 

And still our song shall be — 
Long live, long live, the good old flag, 

Three cheers, three cheers, for thee ! 

While singing the last stanza Miss Rumsey 
would impersonate the defiant spirit of Liberty, 
by trampling a veritable rebel flag under her 
feet, at the same time flinging to the breeze 
the Stars and Stripes. This was always fol- 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 67 

lowed by immense cheering and a ''tiger" 
from the boys. 

Mrs. Pomroy found in these co-workers such 
sympathy and assistance that a close bond of 
friendship was established between them. She 
became a frequent guest at the home of the 
Rumseys, when she was not closely confined 
in the hospital. 

In spite of all the sympathy and cooperation 
received in every department of her work, the 
fact cannot be lost sight of that she suf- 
fered from daily annoyances and trials, some 
of which grew out of the honorable rank she 
now took among her associates at the hospi- 
tal. She writes to a friend at that time, " If 
you knew all the struggles I am undergoing, 
you would pity me, I know." Her health was 
not firm, for her hospital labors at this time 
were unusually arduous. She writes under date 
of April 4th, the following : — 

" I had to-day a call from the Rev. John 
Pierpont of Boston, who brought a letter of 
introduction from Mrs. Lincoln, wishing me to 
give him a hearing on important business. It 
was this : Judge S. of Washington, member of 



68 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

the Senate, had a letter sent him from a 
spirit medium three thousand miles away, re- 
questing him to see Rev. John Pierpont, and 
ask him to visit a hospital in Washington 
where there was a widow, who had a husband, 
son and beautiful daughter in the spirit world, 
and deliver a message. This message was in 
the form of a letter, tied with white satin rib- 
bon, which Mr. Pierpont d£livered to me. I 
opened it, and found it purporting to come 
from my Willie to his mother, in which he 
says that ' he is happy, and wants her to feel 
him as always around her ; but she heeds him 
not, and when she is so tired in heart, clos- 
ing the eyes of those dear ones committed to 
her care, he wishes to commune with her, and 
try to ease her mind and make her happy. 
He has formed the acquaintance of Willie 
Lincoln in the spirit world, and when his mother 
was . at the White House, the two spirits came 
and hovered over Willie Lincoln's mother, so 
that she felt them near, while his mother will 
take no heed to the spirit influence of her dear 
son. She often looks at his lock of hair and 
weeps like a child that will not be comforted.* 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 69 

"Mr. Pierpont imformed me that this letter was 
found by Judge S. on his desk, that he deliv- 
ered it to him to give to me, which he had done 
on finding me out. Now you can imagine how 
troubled I was to hear all this and feel obliged 
to withstand the kind intentions of Mr. Pierpont, 
whom I then met for the first time, and of 
Mrs. Lincoln with whom I have had frequent 
conversations on the subject. He was very 
earnest in trying to make me feel that this 
was a direct communication fi-om Willie, and 
used every argument in his power to convince 
me of the truth of Spiritualism. But I told 
him firmly that I could not so see it. 

" As we were sitting on the trunks in my 
little room — for these were the only seats 
afforded my guests — and I thought on the nov- 
elty of the situation, and racked my brain for 
some form of argument, the key was given me 
wherewith to unlock the mystery, and I told 
Mr. Pierpont what I now tell you. Opposite my 
home in Chelsea, lived Mr. M., a medium, who 
at the time of my family bereavement used 
frequently to come in and talk with my hus- 
band. He knew all the facts of the case, even 



70 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

to the lock of hair I cut from Willie's curly 
head. He is now in California, three thousand 
miles away, and quite likely has a hand in 
this message. But of course this theory would 
not satisfy Mr. Pierpont, and he went away disap- 
pointed that he could not make a Spiritualist 
of me. I had the satisfaction, however, of re- 
turning his intentional kindness by taking him 
through the hospital, and, on reaching my 
ward, he responded to my request, by reading 
one of his own beautiful poems." 

As this grand good type of a Christian gen- 
tleman and pastor stood in the centre of an 
eager group of listeners, his benignant face 
lighted up with the fires of patriotism, we 
cannot wonder that he electrified the hearts of 
his audience, and left only with the promise to 
come again and repeat the entertainment. 

Among the many pleasant friendships formed 
at the White House was that of Mrs. Secretary 
Wells. She called daily during the sickness of 
little Tad, and was always very cordial in her 
manner towards Mrs. Pomroy. Both had sons 
on the battle-field, were interested in the work 
of ameliorating suffering, and when she returned 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 71 

to the hospital, Mrs. Wells and her husband 
proved unfailing friends. One August afternoon 
she called on Mrs. Pomroy. The thermometer 
ranged from ninety to one hundred, and the air 
of the sick room was stifling in the extreme. 

The poor sufferers tossed from side to side, 
restless with fever heat, or lay on their cots, 
passive with weakness. Mrs. Wells, with ready 
sympathy, divined the needs of the sick men, 
and said to the nurse, " I have ice cream in 
the cellar, at home, and as soon as I get there 
I shall send you up ten quarts for your boys." 
Delighted with her secret, for this was to be 
a surprise to them, Mrs. Pomroy waited impa- 
tiently for the return of Mrs. Wells' carriage, 
which after a time made its appearance. 

The footman alighted with his freight, and 
was immediately met by the steward, who or- 
dered it to be sent to his department. 

The man remonstrated, saying it was for 
Mrs. Pomroy's sickest men ; but the steward 
was imperative. Mrs. Pomroy, observing the 
course of things from her upper window, well 
knowing that if it reached the officers' rooms 
the boys would not receive the smallest amount, 



72 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

took the matter in hand by going down, 
claiming the delicacy as a gift from Mrs. Wells, 
and declaring that the boys should have every 
particle of it. She carried the day. Her boys 
were delighted with their mug of ice cream ; 
then every other ward in the -hospital was 
visited, and the sickest boys in each had their' 
portion. The blessings rained down upon her 
by those grateful men were such as she will 
never forget. 

Not long afterward a large box containing 
jellies, wines, tea, coffee, slings and the like 
was sent to her from Salem. On its arrival, 
the steward ordered it into his office, had 
the contents taken out and arranged on his 
shelves, designing them for his private use, 
and had the box split up for kindlings. One 
of Mrs. Pomroy's boys, on going to the 
shed, saw the remnants of the demolished box, 
with her name stamped upon it, and immedi- 
ately informed her. She at once appealed to 
the surgeon in charge, who ordered an investi- 
gation, whereupon the bottles and jars marked 
for Mrs. Pomroy's private use were found in 
the possession of the steward. He was obliged 



CERTAINLY 1 WILL BE WITH THEE. 73 

to give them into her care and ordered not 
to repeat the theft again. We infer from what 
follows that Mrs. Pomroy never stood high in 
favor with the steward after this. 

At this time the soldiers were suffering for 
the want of supplies. Great scarcity induced 
high prices. Milk was twenty-five cents a quart; 
eggs seventy-five cents a dozen, butter corre- 
spondingly high, and of such a quality as called 
forth the remark from one of the men that 
" he had heard of rank butter, but this butter 
outranked General Grant himself" The bread 
was so poor and hard that frequently the men 
refused to eat it. It was Mrs. Pomroy's habit 
to go round and gather up the pieces of bread 
that remained on their plates, keep them until 
enough had been gained for a pudding, then, 
out of her own means, she would buy milk, 
sugar and other necessary ingredients, and make 
them a pudding, sending it down to the bakery, 
to be cooked. The boys had come to look 
forward to their pudding as a treat ; but 
the steward, on finding the matter out, put 
an immediate stop to the "extravagance of 
that Massachusetts nurse." 



74 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

The Soldier's Union Relief Association did 
much towards ameliorating the condition of 
the poor soldiers, exposing as it did the fraudu- 
lent methods practised upon them by design- 
ing officers. A visiting commitee was sent into 
the hospitals to inquire into and report on 
the amount and quality of the supplies fur- 
nished. Their report as to tea and cotfee sup- 
plied to Columbia College was, "the same 
miserable, unwholesome trash furnished to nearly 
all the hospitals : trash unfit to drench the 
meanest brute. Some of the surgeons expressed 
aversion to good living, lest the soldier become 
wedded to hospital life." 

When the men grew so tired of this drink 
they could not taste it, Mrs. Pomroy would 
sometimes go down into the nurse's kitchen, 
fill the teakettle there, and sending down for 
a pitcher of the boiling water,- would prepare 
a good, "old-fashioned cup of Northern tea," 
as the boys called it. The steward, however, 
found it out, and forbade her having another 
drop of hot water. 

That same day Secretary Wells called on 
her, to ask if there was anything she wanted, 



CERTAINLY I WILL BE WITH THEE. 75 

for, said he, "President Lincoln declares that 
Mrs. Pomroy shall have everything she wants." 
She thereupon told him of her unsuccessful 
attempt at providing tea. ''Well, Mrs. Pom- 
roy," he said, "bear it patiently, it will all 
come out right in the end. You have borne 
a good deal, but you deserve everything you 
want, and shall have it if I can get it for 
you." 

As a result of this, an oil stove, with all 
needful appurtenances, was sent immediately 
to her, and the boys triumphantly mounted 
it on a shelf in a convenient part of the 
bath-room. Then and there was inaugurated 
a fragrant cup of tea, first of the many 
that followed to the end of her stay in the 
hospital. The next day the steward came 
up at a time when the odor of boiling hot 
tea, such as was not common in the other 
hospital wards, caused him to look around 
and inquire, " What does this mean ? " The 
nurse directed his attention to the bath- 
room, whence the odor proceeded, and he per- 
ceived, to his astonishment, the oil stove in 
full operation. Mrs. Pomroy explained that it 



76 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

was a gift from Secretary Wells, and the dis- 
comfitted officer left without further observation. 
In a letter written during the month of 
April, she speaks of a young lady who visited 
the hospital and charmed the boys by her 
sweet singing. This was none other than the 
notable Miss Gilson, from Chelsea, known as one 
of the soldiers' best friends. She was at this 
time about commencing her labor of love, not 
the least part of which was the service of song 
which she so admirably rendered. Among the 
familiar home melodies that melted them to 
tears or roused their military ardor, were **Do 
they miss me at Home.?" "Who will care for 
Mother now.?" and the "Star Spangled Banner." 
During Mrs. Pomroy's first furlough, Miss Gil- 
son took her place as substitute, after which 
she went out to the more arduous duties of 
the battle-field. 

There is no holy service 

But hath its secret bliss; 
Yet of all blessed ministries, 

Is one so dear as this? 



CHAPTER IV. 

ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 

THROUGH all the trying scenes of the 
winter and spring of this, her first year 
of hospital life, strange as it may seem, Mrs. 
Pomroy's health improved. Physical strength 
suited to every emergency was vouchsafed to 
her, and she was a wonder to herself and to 
friends who had prophesied her speedy return 
home, from over-exhaustion. 

At the approach of warm weather, however, 
her system was in the condition to take in the 
malaria, which taints the air of that region more 
or less at all seasons, and she had an attack 
of chills and fever that somewhat reduced her 
health and spirits. It came under Mr. Lincoln's 
notice during one of her calls at the Presi- 
dential mansion, and he arranged with Miss 
Dix for her to have a short furlough, to be 

77 



78 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

spent in his family. During her visit she 
writes as follows : 

"I am having a furlough, and what seems 
so very singular, I was thinking whether I 
had better get one for two or three days 
— for I needed the rest and felt as though 
I was growing old fast — when I heard that 
Miss Dix had said she gave no furloughs to 
any of her nurses, and if they chose to go 
away, they must stay away altogether. 

"But a note was sent to Miss Dix from the 
President, requesting her to let me come and 
keep Mrs. Lincoln company, as Mrs. Edwards, 
her sister, was called suddenly home to Illi- 
nois. Miss Dix, of course, granted his request, 
and, for fear I might lose my pleasant ward 
in the hospital, the President wrote to the 
surgeon in charge, requesting him to reserve 
my place for me, when I should return. So 
here I am, safe under his protection. 

" Mrs. Lincoln is very anxious for me to stay 
here all summer; but if I cannot, always to 
come here for rest. Everything is done for 
my comfort, and L go to ride with them 
every day I am living three years 



ALL MY SPKINGS ARE IN THEE. 79 

in one, but I am jogging on in my usual 
steady way, taking that good, old-fashioned 
book as my guide and comfort. Mrs. Lincoln 
needs the comfort of it, too. She says she 
is tired of being a slave to the world, and 
'would live on bread and water if she could 
feel as happy as I do.' 

"We have frequent conversations on these things, 
and my heart yearns to see her seeking com- 
fort in something besides these unstable pleas- 
ures." She writes to a friend later on : 

" I heard yesterday that two hundred and 
fifty wounded soldiers were to be sent to Colum- 
bia to-day, and it seems as though I could 

not stay away from them any longer I have 

so many calls for little sums of money among 
the sick, that I have spent much of my own 
means to help them along. I buy them little 
luxuries which they really need, and when 
they want their own clothing washed, I often 
pay for it, as the hospital clothing is all that 
is washed free of expense. They often go 
to their regiments forgetting to pay me, but 
I do not care for that, only I do wish so 
much, at times, that I was possessed of more 



80 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

means. Then there are some soldiers' families 
just back of the hospital. The husbands are tar 
away, and they are in almost a starving condition, 
and I can buy milk and bread for them as 
long as I have anything to buy with. I never 
stop to ask, Who is my neighbor ? in times 
of sickness or distress. 

" General 's wife had a serenade last even- 
ing, and she came out on the piazza with her babe 
wrapped in the flag of our country. What a 
patriotic woman ! She is like many another here, 
who cannot look upon a poor wounded soldier, 
nor give anything, except to men in office. They 
are nothing to them if they are privates. 

*' Another general's wife says she wonders how 
I can be with soldiers in a hospital. I told 
her if she were there a week, she would have 
a good appetite and sleep all night just as I 
do, for I happened to know that she had no 
appetite, and slept very little The Presi- 
dent and Mrs. Lincoln still continue to urge me 
to stay with them this summer, but no tempt- 
ation, only a sense of duty, would prompt me 
to remain away from my boys. I try to enjoy 
all I can while here, but I did not realize what 



ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 81 

my Heavenly Father had in store, to try me 
and make me cling closer to him, as daily new 
and untried experiences and temptations come 
to me. But my confidence is strong thus far 
that he has led me on, and I trust him for 
the future.'* 

The wounded men to whom she refers as 
being brought to the hospital, were doubtless 
from the field of Williamsburg, where the brave 
Hentzleman and his men brought the rebels 
to bay in their flight from Yorktown. Rooted 
to the bloody field, they withstood the assaults 
of the enemy till help came, though every third 
man had fallen. The loss in numbers was 
heavy, but the indomitable persistence of both 
officers and men gained the victory, and a thrill 
of confidence in Northern leadership again pul- 
sated through the land. Events seemed to 
promise a termination of the war, as the lines 
of the two great armies drew closer together 
in different sections of the country. 

In Congress the question of emancipating 
the slaves was claiming a large share of atten- 
tion. Already a considerable number in both 
Houses insisted that a decree of universal 



82 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

emancipation was necessary to put down the 
rebellion, while others claimed that it was an 
act of injustice to the South. The act of 
emancipation in the District of Columbia had 
been passed, signed by the President, and 
become a law, but that did not satisfy the 
people. 

Every one felt the peril of the hour, 
but none felt the burden of it like our beloved 
President. Nothing kept him from sinking 
wholly underneath the load of calumny and 
weighty cares that beset him day and night, 
but the strong will of the man combined with 
his wonderful facility in extracting comfort out 
of the pleasant trivialities of every-day life. 
Even his little dog Jip was instrumental in 
relieving his master of some portion of the 
burden, for the little fellow was never absent 
from the Presidential lunch. He was always 
in Mr. Lincoln's lap to claim his portion first, 
and was caressed and petted by him through 
the whole meal. 

Often he would come in haggard and weary, 
sinking into the chair almost helpless, and 
would cast about on the shelf near at ha.nd, 






ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 83 

for a book containing Dame Partington's say- 
ings, and in some trivial bit of humor, which 
he would read to Mrs. Pomroy, laugh away 
the cloud of weariness that had settled upon 
him. 

Sometimes it was Shakespeare, of which he 
had a most profound appreciation, often reading 
aloud, in beautifully modulated accents, the 
thoughts that charmed him most. Then it would 
be the old family Bible of his mother's, per- 
suading him with an eloquence beyond that of 
words, to hold on through the struggle, as she, 
poor woman, had done, till victory should come. 

Often the strain upon brain and body was 
relaxed by living over boyhood's days — rehears- 
ing events through which he had passed. He 
said to Mrs. Pomroy at one time, ''Did I 
ever tell you about my first dollar.^ I prized 
that more than five now, and, for once in my 
life, I felt rich. I was eighteen years old, 
quite a tall boy, and belonged to a clas^ they 
called scrubs — people who did not own slaves, 
but had to work very hard to raise their own 
produce and then take it down the river to 
sell. 



84 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

*' After getting my mother's consent (for 
I always went to her for advice), I con- 
structed a Httle fiat-boat, large enough to take 
a barrel, with other things, down to New 
Orleans. A steamer was coming down the 
river. There were no wharves then, and pas- 
sengers had to go out in small boats to the 
steamer. While passing down the river, two 
men accosted me with, 'Who owns that boat.-*' 
I answered, 'I do.' 

'* * Will you,' said they, ' take our trunks 
to the steamer?' 

"'Certainly,' I said, and their trunks were put 
on board. They seated themselves upon them, 
and then each threw a silver half-dollar on 
the floor of my boat. As I picked them up, 
I never felt so happy or so rich in my life, 
to think I was the owner of a dollar." 

One day when Tad was looking at some 
picture-books that a friend had sent him, the 
President remarked, " How many books there 
are for children nowadays. When I was a 
boy, I learned my letters by the blaze of a 
pitchpine knot, laying myself down flat, and 
my now sainted mother teaching me the large 



I 




MK. LINCOLN AND "TAD." {Pn^'e 85.) 



ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 85 

letters from her Bible. She was all the teacher 
I had in those times, and often when pressed 
with letters I think of her, as she instructed 
me how to hold the pen, telling me if I 
lived to be a man I might find some writing 
to do." 

Little Tad furnished another bright spot of 
comfort for the President. He took great de- 
light in the child's infinite fund of boisterous 
mirth and mischievous pranks. After his brother 
Willie's death and the departure of Robert 
for college, he was idolized and petted by 
father and mother, by teachers and visitors, 
till he became the most absolute little mon- 
arch ever known at the White House. He 
had a very poor opinion of books, and of 
teachers, if they attempted discipline, or 
interfered in any way with his cherished 
schemes, and in that case he was shrewd 
enough to get rid of them. 

/'Let him run," said the President; *'he will 
have time enough to learn his letters and get 
poky." From early in the morning till late at 
night he kept the house alive with his fantastic 
pranks ; yoking his kids to chairs, drawing his 



86 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

dogs tandem over the lawn, and even taking the 
affairs of state in hand, in which he showed 
a degree of discernment and appreciation of merit 
beyond that of many an older head, for he 
would treat flatterers and ofifice seekers with a 
curious coolness and contempt, but often would 
espouse the cause of some poor widow or 
tattered soldier, whom he found waiting in the 
ante-rooms, dragging them into the executive 
presence, ordering the ushers out of the way 
and demanding immediate action from head- 
quarters. The President rarely denied a hear- 
ing, no matter how closely pressed in other 
directions. 

One day the little fellow had a present 
of a box of tools from some friend, out 
of which grew a fund of exciting occupa- 
tion, both for himself and the inmates of the 
mansion. The nevv saw was tested by cutting 
away the plank leading from the dining-room 
to the conservatory, knobs and locks were 
taken off the doors, and nails driven into the 
floor through elegant carpets. It was only 
Mrs. Pomroy's appeal to Mr. Lincoln, and his 
threat of taking the tools away from his little 



ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 87 

son, that saved the mansion from further de- 
truction. 

It was during this period of her sojourn 
here that a celebrated artist was engaged 
on a full length picture of Mr. Lincoln. Every 
morning the ladies were called down to give 
their opinion on the work in progress. 

One morning great consternation prevailed. 
The young sprite of the household had locked 
the door upon the artist at his work, and 
taken himself off with the key. Servants were 
despatched in every direction for the young 
miscreant, who was laughing in his sleeves at 
the breeze he had created, and did not return 
till some hours afterward, during which time 
another key haH been provided to let out the 
imprisoned artist. During this visit Mrs. Pom- 
roy spent her nights in the Presidential guest 
chamber, and relates an incident in substance 
as follows : 

*'I passed along the dreary corridors behind 
poor aunt Mary, who had offered to wait upon me 
in any capacity, and who left me at the door, kiss- 
ing my hands, with a * God bress ye, honey ! ' The 
stately grandeur of my surroundings, contrast- 



88 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

ing so vividly with my previous hospital ac- 
commodations, together with the gaslight always 
kept up in each room, prevented my sleep 
till a late hour. When I did awake I saw 
an apparition at my open door that made my 
hair stand on end. By the dim light, I could 
just discern a burly figure, surmounted by a 
woolly head and a grinning row of ivories, with 
a long cudgel, as it seemed to me, in his 
uplifted hand. I could just find breath to 
gasp ' What do you want } ' when the well-known 
voice of Sambo reassured me, saying, * I's only 
the fireman; don't be afraid, missis.' Where- 
upon I subsided, while he came forward and 
replenished my coal grate, the long cudgel 
taking the proportions of a poker, which was 
vigorously applied thereto. This practice was 
a customary event of each night, and never 
afterwards disturbed the quiet of my slum- 
bers." 

Her three weeks' furlough at the White House 
passed rapidly, and she returned to her boys with 
renewed strength and interest. She writes shortly 
after the battle of Winchester : "I can assure you 
we are seeino: trouble sometimes. Two hun- 



ALL MY SPRINGS ABE IN THEE. 89 

dred and fifty came to us last week, and last 
night, just at dark, we had sixty poor, wounded, 
discouraged soldiers, so worn out that as they 
came up the stairs it seemed as though they 
would faint away. I cannot describe my feel- 
ings when told to arrange my beds for more 
wounded men, and let those who are getting 
better sleep on the floor, if there was no 
other place for them. 

''After they were conducted to the bath room 
and washed, and had clean clothes, I took them 
by the hand and told them they had come to a 
good place, and I would do all for them I could. 
You never saw such gratitude. They had not 
heard a kind, womanly word since they left home ; 
and then the tears ! O, Mrs. F., were you 
here, your heart would ache, for seeing and 
assisting to dress the wounds, is very different 
form hearing about it a long way off. My 
hands and head and heart are full ; for I have 
never seen anything like this before. . . . 
I have singing and prayer meetings now, every 
Sabbath ; and for the last two Sabbaths have 
had a Bible class, and fourteen of my boys 
are studying the Bible. Every morning I take 



90 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

time to read a chapter to them, and am 
surprised to see what attention they give. 

*' We have long needed a chaplain ; all the 
nurses feel interested to have one, and many of 
the soldiers. .1 spoke to the President about it, 
and after hearing what I had to say, he told 
me I had better petition. I wrote a letter, 
which was read before the Senate, and the 
President came last night to tell me that he 
thought my desires would be gratified, as he 
should do his best to get the Rev. Mr. D. 
the chaplaincy for Columbia College. And still 
further ; he is going to give my son George a 

lieutenancy in the regular army 

Our tents and barracks back of the hospital 
are full of the wounded, and if any societies 
in the towns around Boston would like to 
help, now is the time, as the wounded are 
coming upon us so fast that shirts and drawers, 
cotton socks, coarse combs, small pins, hand- 
kerchiefs and old linen, and some of the lux- 
uries that we cannot get here, will be very 
acceptable. 

*'How I do dislike to beg; but I am spending 
daily my own money for these things. They are 



/ 



ALL xMY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 91 

grateful for the smallest favors. ... I suppose 
you have heard of the death of two of Miss Dix's 
nurses. They were in a Southern hospital doing 
God and their country service, and she left them 
happy as she left us. Soon after the hospital was 
attacked by rebel soldiery, two were killed out- 
right, and the other eight fled, it is supposed, and 
are still missing. How sad ! and yet, some of 
us in Washington may share the same fate. We 
are surrounded by Secesh, and they are only 
waiting their time. 

*' We have been having trouble here with the 
nurses ; two have been expelled. Miss Dix 
talks of removing some of the best to For- 
tress Monroe, which is a hard place for any 
one to go to ; but I wait patiently, trusting my 
Heavenly Father. Mrs. Lincoln is very anxious 
that I should leave the hospital and make my 
home with her, but I do not know what a 
day may bring forth, and I do not encourage 
her in the least. I am happy here in doing 
my duty by these brave men, and would not 
change places with Mrs. Lincoln for all her 
honors. She suffers from depression of spirits, 
but I do think if she would only come here 



92 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

and look at the poor soldiers occasionally it would 
be better for her. . . . Let my name be kept 
as quiet as possible, for I am surprised to find 
it so much handled. I have clergymen, su- 
perintendents, and quite distinguished gentlemen, 
inquire for my name at the office, and my 
time has been very much taken up in citing 
peculiar cases that have come under my 
observation. One gentleman from the far 
West has offered pay if I will write to him 
for his Sunday-school paper. Of course I 
cannot." 

When we take into account that nearly 
all her letters to friends were written at 
night, after the laborious duties of the day 
had been performed, often taken up in the 
hours of the midnight watch with the dying, 
to keep herself from falling asleep, we cannot 
wonder that she had no disposition to gratify 
the world of inquirers through the agency of 
letters. 

She writes, later on: "It is just nine months 
to-day since I set foot into this place of suf- 
fering, and I have no desire to return home 
while I can make myself useful. I do not 



ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 93 

know any one with whom I would exchange 
situations ; for in spite of the rudeness of his 
surroundings, there is a charm that invests 
the poor soldier boy. When once you have 
enlisted his affection, he makes a confident 
of you, and before you are aware of it, you 
are mother, nurse and friend. Then he will 
listen to reproof and instruction. 

"I have a little Vermont fellow for an at- 
tendant, for whom I feel responsible to God. 
He is an orphan boy, and loves me dearly. He 
says I am the only mother he ever knew. 
He shares with me all my presents, and when, 
the other day, I gave him a piece of pie, he 
did not speak for the tears that choked him. 
He says I am too good to him. He had been 
cruelly treated before coming here, and is all 
the more susceptible to kindly influences now. 
God grant me help to reach his inner feel- 
ings, so as to instruct him in becoming a good 
Christian boy." 

During one of Mrs. Pomroy's visits to the 
White House, Mr. Lincoln said to her, *'Mrs. 
Pomroy, I want to do something for you; what 
shall it be.? Be perfectly free to tell me 



94 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

what you want most, and if it is in my power, 
you shall have it." 

Taken unawares by this generous proffer, 
she knew not what to reply. She knew no 
want uppermost for herself, so entirely was 
she leaning from day to day upon Divine 
favor, in her new, strange life. 

It finally came to her in this way: "If Mr. 
Lincoln would only come to Columbia College 
and see my boys, how much good it would do 
them ! " And so, the next day, she proffered 
her simple request. 

The promise was granted with apparent 
pleasure and attended to with alacrity ; for 
within a week, the Presidential carriage was 
drawn up at Columbia College, and the Presi- 
dent, and Senator Browning, from Illinois, 
alighted, and called for Mrs. Pomroy. She 
writes in a letter that follows : 

" I was in my room at the time, and the 
surgeon in charge came and told me that the 
President would like to see me. As I went 
to the door, lo and behold ! a great company 
of gentlemen were waiting for me to introduce 
them to His Excellency. I was taken by sur- 



ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 95 

prise and did the honors of introducing him 
to all the surgeons, stewards, cadets, and the 
gentlemen that followed, as well as the nurses. 
Then the Surgeon-General invited me to do 
escort duty to the President, by going all 
through the hospital, which I did, and then 
went out into the tents and performed the 
duty there. The soldiers were called out by 
the officers, arranged in a straight line, and 
Mr. Lincoln, in his unpretentious way, with 
his hat off, shook hands with each one, asking 
his name and the name of his regiment and 
company. Such a scene will never be effaced 
from the memory of the soldiers as the lame, 
halt and withered came straggling into line at 
the unexpected beat of the drum. 

"Their enthusiasm was unbounded, and they 
expressed their minds after the interview by 
saying, 'We'll vote him in next election.' 

" One poor fellow for days afterwards refused 
to wash the hand that had grasped the Presi- 
dent's." 

The pleasantest and most uncommon scene 
of the event was where Mrs. Pomroy sent 
down into the kitchen and cook-room and 



96 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

ordered colored Lucy and the two male col- 
ored servants to wash their hands and make 
ready to come up. They stood on either side 
of her as the President passed out. " And who 
are these?" he said, in a kindly tone. 

"This is Lucy, formerly a slave from Ken- 
tucky. She cooks the nurses' food." 

"How do you do, Lucy .^ " and out went that 
long hand in recognition of the woman's ser- 
vices. 

" And who are these on your left .? '* 

** This is Garner, and this Brown. They are 
serving their country by cooking the low diet 
for our sickest boys." 

Then again the hearty grip, with "How do 
you do, Garner? how do you do, Brown?" 
their shining faces meanwhile attesting their 
amazement and joy for all time, thus to be 
addressed by their beloved President. 

Mrs. Pomroy escorted him to the outer 
entrance, and the carriage drove away ; but no 
sooner was it lost to view than she became 
aware of a feeling of intense disapprobation 
and disgust among the officers, who a moment 
before had been all graciousness and suavity. 



ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 97 

Their conversation was afterwards reported to 
her. ** Anybody would know she was a Massa- 
chusetts woman," they said, "for no one else 
would do such a mean, contemptible trick as 
to introduce those d niggers to the Presi- 
dent." 

" Yes," said the surgeon in charge, " it was 
in Massachusetts that the first abolition egg 
was laid." 

Even the soldiers imbibed the spirit of their 
superiors, and felt their honor insulted. 

Mrs. Pomroy's attendant came to her shortly 
after and said, "Mother, what could you be 
thinking of to introduce those niggers to the 
President.?" "Charlie," she said, "who maketh 
thee to differ.? Does God think the less of 
these poor people because their skin is black.?" 
Her earnest and fearless appeal in behalf of 
these poor, despised creatures did much towards 
restoring harmony, and she was loaded with 
thanks for the pleasure she had conferred upon 
officers and soldiers for a week succeeding; 
but the colored help never ceased to attest 
their gratitude. " Lub ye, Missus, long as ye 
lib. Nebber spec such a t'ing ! " 



98 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

Shortly after, the carriage was sent from 
the White House to bring Mrs. Pomroy for 
a visit. Having a good opportunity, she asked 
the President if his feelings were hurt on 
being presented to the colored servants of 
Columbia College. "Hurt .J* No, indeed!" he 
said ; " it did my soul good. I'm glad to do 
them honor. It will not be long before we 
shall have to use them as soldiers and call 
them into the ranks side by side with their 
white brothers." 

Among her patients at this time was a 
young Frenchman, Charlemagne by name. 
He was a member of a New York regiment, 
and had been brought in with a bad leg-wound. 

He was unable to speak a word of English, 
and would lie watching every motion of his 
nurse, with an expression of patience on his 
beautiful countenance that was very pathetic, 
even to the most casual observer. No one 
in the hospital was able to converse with him, 
and the happy expedient of calling in Rob- 
ert Lincoln, who was then home from college, 
was resorted to. 

It was a very sorry thing for this voluble 



ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 99 

and accomplished young Frenchman to forego 
the exercise of his vocal powers, and his 
delight was unbounded when he found a 
young companion to converse with. Robert 
would come in quite often to talk and read 
to him, bringing papers, fruit and delicacies. 

When it was thought necessary by his phy- 
sicians that his leg should be amputated, the 
poor fellow shook his head, and Robert had to 
be called in to explain that he could not live un- 
less it were done, and that the operation would 
not be so trying as he expected. He finally 
consented, if " Mudder would stay by him.'"' 

This his nurse consented to do. She went 
with him into the operating room, adminis- 
tered the chloroform and assisted the surgeon 
during the process of amputation. Charlemagne 
was raised up from his bed of sickness, and 
at the end of six months hobbled down to 
Washington on crutches, for his new leg. 

Shortly afterwards he stepped into the hospi- 
tal and presented himself to his nurse, exclaim- 
ing in triumph, as he put his feet together, 
*•• Which one is it, mudder.?" So neat a piece of 
workmanship was presented to her admiring 



100 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AOT) WHITE HOUSE. 

gaze, that she was forced to confess, much 
to his delight, that she could not tell which. 

So much coolness and courage was shown by 
Mrs. Pomroy in the operating-room, that she 
was frequently called on to assist the surgeons, 
and in dressing wounds she was considered 
quite an adept. Her basket containing lint, 
bandages and scissors, was in frequent requisi- 
tion, and the pale, frail-looking nurse was ac- 
knowledged to have the steadiest hand of 
them all. 

At one time, fifteen men were brought in 
whose left legs required amputation. Morning 
and evening, for the space of three months, 
she held the shattered stumps while the sur- 
geon dressed and bandaged them. 

One peculiarly trying case was that of Sken- 
nel, of Maine. He was brought' in from the 
battle-field with an ugly wound in the leg, 
resulting from having his horse shot under him. 
He had complained for several hours of a 
crawling and biting sensation in his wound, 
which gave him so much uneasiness and pain 
that he could get no rest. The young sur- 
geon who attended him, anticipating an evening 



ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 101 

of gayety in Washington, and anxious to leave 
for the night, declared there was no help for 
it, and that he would do nothing more for 
him, leaving him in care of his nurse. 

The poor fellow's limb was confined firmly 
in a wooden box, where he had no means of 
moving it. The biting and crawling feeling 
still continued, and the nurse filled with sym- 
pathy for his distress, determined, wath the 
help of her assistant, to unstrap the limb and 
examine the wound. As she did so, a sicken- 
ing sight was brought to view; for it was 
literally alive with vermin which had bred 
there, through some insect germ in the cot- 
ton, it was supposed. 

With her attendant's aid Mrs. Pomroy 
washed and dressed the wound and put it 
back into place, as she had seen the surgeon 
do. This accomplished, the poor soldier's eyes 
shone with relief and gratitude, then closed 
in peaceful slumber for the remainder of the 
night, while his weary nurse rested also, with 
the consciousness of another day's work com- 
pleted. 

Her own simple version of some of these 



102 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

trying incidents will prove what an unfailing 
support her courage and sympathy was in the 
soldiers' hour of deepest distress. 

In a letter written during the month of 
August, she says : " I dressed two of my boys 
in a clean outfit for the operating room, after 
fixing the table, getting sponges, basins, oil 
cloth and tub; then took one of them by the 
hand and led him into the room, assisted him 
on to the operating-table, and kept hold of his 
hand till all was through. Oh, how grateful 
was that dear young man ! He was then put 
in bed, and my older boy, a Massachusetts 
man, forty-two years old, was then called, and 
I did the same by him. 

" How little the wives and mothers at home 
know what their dear ones are passing through ! 
Tears, yes, tears of gratitude do I witness from 
stout-hearted men, when I go to them and say, 
•Good courage, friend! we will do all we can 
for you.' 

"The week before I had a young man 
wounded in the ankle, and after all my care 
for nine weeks, it was decided that the foot 
must be amputated. His agony at the thought 



ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 103 

of going home to his mother with only one 
foot, was hard to witness. At length he con- 
sented to the operation, if I would take hold 
of his hand, which I did, and when all was 
through, he kissed me like an own child, say- 
ing, 'You are a good mother to me.' My 
journal! how that will tell the tale when I 
am laid away and cannot voice the scenes 
that thrill me through, and will continue to, 
while life and memory last." 

Again she writes: ''We have had one rebel 
brought to our care, who died with fever. Un- 
til his last breath, he swore vengeance upon 
us. The doctors had no patience with him. 
A post-mortem examination was made, and I 
need not tell the rest, for one of the sur- 
geons informed me privately, that if he could 
do no good for his country, his body should 
be of use to scientific men. 

"It seems to me we have more Secession- 
ists in Washington than people have any idea. 
My visits to the White House have opened 
my eyes. The city is filled with military offi- 
cers who daily visit our select aristocracy, 
loitering on the steps of public buildings, and 



104 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

mingling in the vilest society, while our poor 
Northern privates have to bear the burden 
and heat of the day. Our fields are scattered 
with the wounded and dying, and the Presi- 
dent tells me he thinks this will be a long 
war yet. We live in exciting times at the 
hospital. Our old faithful attendants have been 
taken from us, and we are now dependent on 
poor sick convalescents, who can hardly carry 
themselves about, much more do any work. 
Also a new set of surgeons, who are putting 
on the screws tighter than ever; and what 
with our beds full, and the many hospital 
trials, we nurses ought to have the patience 
of Job, the wisdom of a Solomon, and the 
spirit of Peter, when he cried out, * Lord, 
save, or we perish.' Do not think I am home- 
sick or worn out. Oh, no! far from that; 
but military rules are so strict, and the Stripes 
use so much authority, that we all get tired, 
sometimes ; but so long as my health is good, 
just so long shall I stand by the poor private 
who risks his life for our country. If I come 
down to bread alone, it will not trouble me 
in the least, for as long as I have a little 



ALL MY SPRINGS ARE IN THEE. 105 

money by me, I can surely take care of my- 
self. 

" On Tuesday last I had a pleasant ride with 
some Washington friends. We went first to 
the Soldiers' Home, a place owned by govern- 
ment, centaining three hundred acres, on which 
are five stone houses, and a larger one for 
the aged and crippled soldiers who have fought 
their country's battles, and have settled down 
quietly till the Great Captain calls them up 
higher. We rode round the President's country 
seat, which is one of the five houses, and 
from there to the graveyard ; and a more 
sorrowful sight I have never seen. 

" There lay our soldiers, over eighteen hun- 
dred of them, with only a footpath between 
them ; and as I wandered through, to look 
after my twenty-four boys who had been laid 
there, I would occasionally read on the wooden 
slab, ^ Name unknowjt' I could not help con- 
trasting that sad and lonely place — not a tree 
or flower could be seen — to that of our beau- 
tiful Wood) awn, with its clinging vines, orna- 
mental shrubbery, and costly monuments. The 
tears would come when I thought of the poor 



106 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

soldiers borne here now, not by the drum and 
fife, but only by the chaplain, who walks by 
the side of the cart, shedding tears of sympa- 
thy for those at home. Such is war time, and 
the end is not yet." 

Again she writes : " We are all excitement, 
as the report is that our most trusted lead- 
ers have skedaddled, and fears are entertained 
that the rebels will get possession of Washing- 
ton. What does all this mean ? Our soldiers 
are tired of the war ; thousands are dying, and 
who will fill their places.-* Do we not live in 
trying times ? " 

Turn and o'erturn, Outstretched Hand, 

Nor stint nor stay ; 
The years have never dropped their sand 
On mortal issues half so grand 

As ours to day. 



CHAPTER V. 



LED ON. 



THE excitement and suspicion with regard 
to the condition of our army, to which 
Mrs. Pomroy refers, were not without warrant. 
General Pope's campaign had proved a failure. 

The people instead of celebrating the Fourth 
of July in the overthrow of Richmond, as 
they had anticipated, were forced to see our 
army retreat and the enemy advance in their 
rear, with the evident intention of moving 
boldly upon Washington. The hospitals in and 
around that city were rapidly filling up with 
the wounded and dying heroes of the Army of 
the Potomac, and additional tents were supplied. 

Surgeons and experienced physicians came 
flocking in . from the different States, and not 
only Washington, but the whole North, was 
alarmed. 

107 



108 ECHOES FEOM HOSPITAL AXD WHITE HOUSE. 

Already General Lee was throwing his army 
across the Potomac ; clouds of ominous smoke 
were gathering in the distance, and the sound 
of heavy cannonading could be heard ten miles 
away. At this perilous time Mrs. Pomroy vis- 
ited a section of country near which the enemy 
was encamped. We give a description of it 
in her own words : 

" A few days since my friends who are 
interested in the soldiers at the hospitals, and 
are favored with an ambulance daily, came for 
me to go to Falls Church, in Virginia, and 
the change was a pleasant one. After going 
through part of Georgetown, we crossed the 
Canal Bridge, which was built to carry our 
troops over to the Virginia side. 

"While passing along there was presented 
such a scene of desolation — trees felled on 
both sides of the road for our troops to pitch 
their tents, and for several miles scarcely a 
house till we arrived at Falls Church. The 
first place we stopped at was the Guard House, 
to procure a pass, and we were told to be 
home before dark, as the Guerrillas were back 
of the woods and might fire upon us. The 



LED ON. 109 

caution was not unnecessary, for I learned 
through Mr. Fowle afterwards, that they were 
out on a raid that night, and not far from us 
when we re-crossed the bridge. 

"We stopped at the house that Stonewall 
Jackson had kept for his headquarters, and 
from thence went to Fort Corcoran. Then 
we recollected hearing our boys tell of work- 
ing sixty days to get that grand and beautiful 
piece of workmanship accomplished. It was 
well mounted with cannon whose mouths could 
send forth balls to a distance of several miles. 

"The next place visited was a hospital for 
the sick, which was formerly a Baptist church, 
but now our sick are taken in and kindly cared for. 
There were sixty poor fellows; and as we gave 
them shirts, sheets, wines, papers, tracts and 
Bibles, I cannot tell you the number of happy 
faces we left. 

" A few rods further we came to Falls Church, 
a small, neat, brick building, one story and a 
half high. Here the enemy stopped until they 
were driven back; and after the skirmish that 
ensued, the rebels that were killed were laid 
side by side with the Union men. Half a 



110 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

mile from here we went on a hill named 
Cameron Encampment, which was covered 
with tents ; and here sixteen hundred poor fel- 
lows, disabled from the skirmish, were brought. 
As we passed from tent to tent, and saw so many 
of our dear boys, some too sick to speak, while 
others hobbled along on crutches and sticks, 
others with arms, limbs and heads bound up, 
my heart cried out, * How long O, Lord, how 
long!' 

''On the top of the hill was a flag-staff, and 
a flag was thrown to the breeze. Mr. Fowle 
had the drum beat, for the boys to rally 
round the flag, which they did with alacrity, 
giving it three rousing cheers. Then Miss Rum- 
sey, the sweet singer of Washington, sang the 
Star Spangled Banner^ and the Rebel Flag, 
and all the boys were invited to join in the 
chorus, and if they could not sing, to open 
their mouths, which they did to the gratifica- 
tion of all there, while they sang Rally round 
the Flag; a circle composed of nearly five 
hundred gathered about the flag staff, as they 
form.ed in three or four rows, some sitting, 
others standing. 



LED ON. Ill 

"I had the pleasure of distributing tracts, pa- 
pers and Bibles to them while my young friend 
continued to sing. Last of all, we sang Amer- 
ica, and we broke away after immense cheering 
for old Massachusetts. We then shook hands 
with the surgeons, and they heartily urged us 
to come again, and let our friends at the 
North know that their kindness was appreci- 
ated. 

" On Saturday the battle was going on, and 
every one that could procure a horse went to 
the field to look after our wounded, and on 
Saturday night the wounded thronged our 
streets, as carriages, omnibuses and ambulances 
were engaged in bringing them from the field. 
On Sunday we let all our convalescents go 
to other hospitals, and we filled up with 
wounded. An order came from Washington 
to prepare for eight thousand." 

The next letter she writes is descriptive of 
the event of this influx of suffering men : 

"On the Sabbath, at four o'clock in the 
morning, three hundred were brought in from 
the battle-field, and all the nurses, stewards, 
physicians and cooks were called up to look 



112 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

after them. Several were so completely ex- 
hausted that they died while being taken out 
of the ambulances. We are so full that our 
entries, and every spare place, are covered 
with beds, and our poor boys are lying so 
thick that we have to be careful how and 
where we step. Such horrid sights I cannot 
describe. Men with both eyes put out, others 
with arms hanging as the ball went through 
them, others with legs shot off or hanging 
helpless. They seemed like children waiting 
for their mothers' care. 

" As we stepped among them as carefully 
as we could, it was enough to make the 
stoutest heart faint to witness the ghastly 
wounds, and hear their pathetic appeals — 'Do 
take me from here ! ' ' Please give me a drink 
of water!' 'I'm so faint ! ' 'O God, but I'm 
in so much pain ! ' 'If my mother were here, 
she would not let me die so.' 

"We supplied them first of all with water, 
tea, coffee or stimulants, then, as fast as we 
could, we washed and dressed their wounds, 
cut and combed their hair. Then in clean 
clothes, when quietly in bed, how the manly 



LED OK 113 

tears would start as they thought of wife and 
mother. 

" O, Mrs. R, think of the old gray-haired 
man with his locks saturated with blood from 
a wound in the head; then a stout man of 
forty with his hip so mangled that when I 
assist them in taking care of him, the big 
tears roll off and he blesses me and calls me 
God's angel; and still another having a ball 
cut through his ankle, and I helping the sur- 
geon, by holding the leg, as we cannot spare 
time to give chloroform. O these sights and 
scenes ; how they burn themselves into my 
brain ! 

"We have to-day eight hundred wounded, and 
I am the only female nurse on the fourth 
ward, as Miss Dix has taken my mate to the 
battle-field with her. She would have taken 
me also, had I been strong enough to bear 
the fatigue. 

" I have now ninety-one beds to look after, 
but the dear Lord is helping me to do what- 
ever is laid upon me. Truly I can say from 
the fulness of my heart, His mercies are 'new 
every morning and fresh every evening.' 



114 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL ASD WHITE HOUSE. 

"There is no Sunday here. All is confusion 
and excitement, and the two last Sabbaths I 
shall never forget ; no, never ! We have no 
time to stop and think, but our judgment 
regarding what is to be done, must be in our 
fingers' ends, so to speak, as we have to act 
speedily or lose it entirely. 

" My son George is now under my care, as he 
came in completely fatigued and worn out. He 
was ordered to New York, with one hundred 
others, and the conductor having heard of me, 
procured him a passage for Washington. He 
was then sent to Armory Hospital, and my 
surgeon in charge got a transfer to this place. 
He is doing well; has been in four battles, 
and the Lord spared him, while companions 
fell dead at his side." 

October 2d she writes as follows : " I 
am expecting to-day to go home with Mrs. 
Lincoln and spend a few days, as I am com- 
pletely worn down with fatigue, and feel some- 
times like Martha, * careful and troubled about 
many things.' All my time has been spent 
in working or writing. There is no end to 
the letters I have to write for my boys; my 



LED ON. 115 

account says four hundred and four letters 
for the year I have been here. Every scrap 
of time is used up to talk to my friends at 
home on paper, for O, dear ! I have so much 
to say and no confidential earthly friend here, 
and when I can breathe my thoughts on paper, 
what a relief ! 

'* Again you ask, ' Do I get all I need ? ' 
I am more fortunate than many, as box after 
box, barrel after barrel comes, and as a gen- 
eral rule, we get along nicely now ; but I 
have an interest in the Barracks that no 
other nurse has, and many a poor wounded 
soldier from there comes to me for a sling, 
a clean shirt, or a pair of socks, or to bor- 
row money, and that is the last I hear from 
him ; and what a comfort it is that I can 
supply their wants, for they have no female 
nurse in the Barracks. 

" Last week a poor, disconsolate mother who 
came all the way from Michigan to visit her 
sick son, came to see me. I found her poor 
wounded boy was hungry and dirty, and I gave 
her a comb, jelly, clean clothes, sheets to do up 
his wounds, lint, and many other things to make 



116 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

them both comfortable; and could you see that 
mother's look ! It seemed as though she 
never could give kisses enough for my kind- 
ness to her. 

*• There are four hundred in the Barracks, 
and very bad cases ; always when I get an 
opportunity, I send supplies when we have them 
to spare. We are surrounded with tents too, 
and I am amused, sometimes, when a company 
gets together and they all call me by name, 
as the woman who sent them what they needed 
when I had entirely forgotten them 

"That Jamaica Ginger! could you but see 
how grateful my wounded boys are for a 
spoonful of that in hot water when they are 
in pain. Why, some of them think it is a 
life preserver. When the surgeon is away 
I often give them that instead of brandy, and 
it answers the same purpose." 

In the latter part of the month of October, 
Mrs. Pomroy was allowed a month's furlough, 
which was a necessity to her, owing to the 
fatigue induced by the heavy burden of care 
she had carried for so long a period. 

She spent the time with friends in Chelsea, 



LED ON. 117 

Newton, and Somerville, and many gatherings 
were held, both pubhc and private, that friends 
might have an opportunity to hear of the 
work she was accomphshing. 

She was presented, at this time, with a hand- 
some flag, by the family of Mr. D. of Somer- 
ville. A very interesting service was held at 
the dedication of this flag, in which fervent 
prayers were offered, that when this cruel war 
was over, the "soldiers' friend" might return 
to her home in Chelsea, and bring the flag 
with her. 

It may be well here to give its eventful 
history from the time it was taken to Colum- 
bia College by its happy recipient, and draped 
around the bay-window of her ward room. 

It served as a winding-sheet for hundreds of 
her brave boys as they were carried from the 
hospital to their last resting-places. It was 
not in battle, but had many hair-breadth es- 
capes. Three times it was set on fire; twice 
by Secessionists. 

On the Christmas of 1862 it was decorated 
by an evergreen border and placed at the en- 
trance hall of the hospital, with pictures of 



118 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

President Lincoln and General Grant on each 
side, when a sentinel with a lighted candle 
carelessly set it on fire ; although the ever- 
green was burned to cinders, the flag was only 
smoked. 

In 1863, at a concert given at Willard's 
Hall, for the soldiers in the hospitals, the Mas- 
sachusetts flag was sent to grace the hall. At 
midnight some rebels broke in, took every- 
thing they could lay hands on, and attempted 
to pull the flag down; but as it was nailed 
up, they tore holes in it and left it, finding 
that Massachusetts was not so easily taken. 
At another time, a traitor found his way into 
one of Mrs. Pomroy's evening meetings, and 
lingering about the premises, attempted to set 
the flag on fire, in the mess-room ; but his 
design was discovered before any damage was 
done. 

At another time, when three hundred of 
our sick and starving boys were nearly sur- 
rounded by the enemy in Virginia, Mrs. Pom- 
roy and other friends visited them, taking food, 
and clothing, and the flag. When the boys 
saw the Union signal hoisted in their midst, 






LED ON. 119 

their surprise and delight knew no bounds. 
Hunger and hardship for the moment were 
forgotten, and such cheering as the good old 
flag of Massachusetts received, with three 
times three for the owner who dared to raise 
it on the " sacred soil of Old Virginia ! " 

Mrs. Pomroy returned to her work invigor- 
ated, and writes soon after: *'I am once more 
at home with my boys; not the ones I left, 
but an entirely new set, some of them Ger- 
mans ; but they all looked bright, and seemed 
very happy when I entered the room. Most 
of our wounded men have gone home on fur- 
loughs; the convalescents are those who are 
troubled with rheumatism or heart-disease; 
many of them young boys from twelve to 
sixteen." 

The Christmas following was kept with 
royal cheer at Columbia College. Supplies 
from the North had been very generous. One 
hundred turkeys were stuffed and roasted, fifty 
gallons of oysters made into soup, a barrel of 
cranberry sauce manufactured, and a bountiful 
supply of pies and vegetables was furnished. 
Mrs. Lincoln sent flowers, and two barrels of 



120 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

apples. The hospital looked very fine in its 
holiday aspect. 

Mrs. Pomroy's flag, trimmed with evergreen, 
draped the entrance hall, and all along the 
wards and halls the boys had ornamented 
with flowers and evergreens. The Zouaves 
executed very artistic work in mottoes, stars 
and wreaths. Never had such an interest 
been taken before. Surgeons and stewards 
were on a level with nurses and boys, and 
the Christmas dinner was pronounced as good 
as Parker's. The boys marched in by music, 
some of whom never had seen tables so boun- 
tifully spread before. 

The mess-room seated four hundred, and 
was decorated with evergreen and spruce-trees, 
while mottoes were suspended from tree to 
tree. After tea, the soldiers' friends from 
Washington came in, and there was a varied 
programme of speech-making, anecdotes, and 
singing from Miss Rumsey. Altogether, they 
had a "merry Christmas," to make up for some 
that were not so enjoyable. 

The opening year of 1863 was distinguished 
for the establishment of the President's Eman- 



LED ON. , 121 

cipation Proclamation, declaring slaves in the 
United States to be forever free. The Proc- 
lamation had received the sanction of Congress, 
and was issued the previous September, to 
take effect on the beginning of the New Year. 
Mrs. Pomroy was stopping at the White House 
at the time Mr. Lincoln had it under consid- 
eration, and had frequent conversations with 
him about it. He was not unprepared for the 
terrible denunciations and bitter hatred that 
were to come from the opposing party, but 
his stern sense of duty and his hatred of the 
monstrous evils that grew out of slavery, urged 
him on to the consummation of that which 
has been justly called ** the greatest event of 
the nineteenth century." 

Nor was opposition apprehended from the 
South alone. Full well he knew that treason 
was at his very doors. Washington was full 
of Secessionists, and the number who proph- 
esied that the Proclamation would only close 
the doors against the dawning hope of a reac- 
tion at the South, were not a few. 

One day Mr. Lincoln rode up from the 
White House to the Soldiers' Home and 



122 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL ANP WHITE HOUSE. 

engaged Mrs. Pomroy in conversation upon 
the subject. He said : 

" I am having a hard struggle ; this Procla- 
mation is weighing heavily upon me night and 
day. I shall encounter bitter opposition, but I 
think good will come of it, and God helping 
me, I will carry it through." 

The next day, while taking her back to 
the hospital, it was the sole topic of his con- 
versation. He was more cheerful, for he had 
finished writing the document the night pre- 
vious. It was in his hand, and he told her 
he was going to read it to Charles Sumner, 
who was his foremost adviser and counselor 
at this time. 

The final Proclamation was celebrated as a 
great event in many parts of the country, 
and was the chief topic of conversation around 
Washington. The organization of the first col- 
ored regiment at Beaufort, S. C, was the first 
outgrowth of this new era. 

In Virginia, the Army of the Potomac was 
nearly at a standstill during the first three 
winter months, and hospital life at Columbia 
College wore tediously away in the absence 



LED ON. 123 

of excitement and the anxieties of previous 
months. 

Mrs. Pomroy was obliged to resort to every 
means within reach to make the time pass 
pleasantly. At one time, all the checker-boards 
and dominoes were in requisition ; at another 
time it was working on cardboard ; at another, 
bead collars were made by the dozen, in which 
the red, white and blue were tastefully mingled. 
These were sent North to friends, or to sol- 
diers' fairs, where they were much sought for 
as soldier relics. Again we see them carv- 
ing rings from a piece of a rebel's bone, 
or making chains from laurel wood brought 
from the woods. Then it was an hour's read- 
ing out of some entertaining book, when they 
would gather round her like children. 

She writes to a friend at this time : " I 
wish you could look in and see my sewing- 
circle, which meets at three o'clock (genteel 
hour) in our large room, and notice what a 
happy time we have in mending the week's 
socks. I do this for amusement. To see twelve 
or fourteen men sitting around the bed with 
scissors and balls of yarn, you would think 



124 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

we were a happy family. They will do most 
anything, if I will only sit down with them 
and sew. My sickest boys take great pleasure 
in Cora's picture books." 

These books were none other than Mother 
Goose melodies, with painted pictures. One 
little sick fellow, whose mind was nearly gone> 
clung to the picture of Cock Robin, and would 
cry inconsolably if it were taken from him. 

It was at this time that some ladies from 
the East sent to Mrs. Pomroy an album 
quilt which proved one of the great attractions 
in her ward. 

In the white centre piece of each bright- 
colored square was penned an inscription for 
the soldier. Some of these were Scriptural, 
some patriotic, others witty or sentimental. 
As, '' Fear not, Abraham, for I am thy shield 
and thy exceeding great reward;" and, "Stand! 
the ground's your own, my braves;" and, "Why 
are soldiers like tea.-* Because, when in fire, 
they are well drawn out," and the like. 

A vast store of amusement was stitched 
into this beautiful piece of work for the lonely 
patients, and Mrs. Pomroy took great pleasure 



LED ON. 125 

in showing it to her visitors and sending it 
through the hospital for all to see ; then it 
was kept for the sickest ones, carried from 
bed to bed, for an hour at a time, that they 
might feast their eyes on the bright colors, 
and read its comforting messages. One poor 
man who had lost all reason, could only be 
restrained in his dying hours by having it held 
up before him to gaze upon. 

She writes in the month of January : 

"We are still having trouble with our rations, 
as when we commuted the former steward 
drew our rations and spent them, cheating 
us out of two hundred dollars. So now we have 
to get along the best we can. 

*'I have just received a letter from my son, 
saying that he had orders to march across 
the river, when ammunition, blankets and cloth- 
ing were taken by the rebel cavalry, and he 
was left with only the clothing he had on, 
and almost frozen 

*'A week ago we were called from our beds 
at one o'clock, as an invoice of sick men 
needed our care. They came from Aquia 
Creek, and were for some time in a regi- 



128 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

mental hospital. Poor fellows I they could 
hardly crawl up stairs. One of them said he 
had not slept on a bed for two years, and 
he did not believe he could rest on one. 

"I am living over my dear husband's suf- 
ferings again in the care of a man fifty-nine 
years old, who has asthma and dropsy. It is 
hard indeed to look after him with all my 
other duties. His groans are heard all over 
the building; he cannot lie down, and he is 
a sight to behold. His sufferings call up past 
scenes which I had hoped were almost for- 
gotten. Trained as I have been to suppress 
all that troubles me, and can stand and see 
amputations, and close the dying eyes without 
shedding a tear, yet, when the distress for 
breath that I was so familiar with for years, 
falls again on my ears, O, how completely 
melted down is this frame of mine that I had 
felt was so strong! 

"This poor afflicted man was a firm Catho- 
lic, and daily counted his beads. On Satur- 
day the priest was sent for to administer the 
sacrament, as nothing I could say would ease 
his mind. Father Boyle, a handsome, pompous 



LED ON. 127 

young priest, dressed in the best of broad- 
cloth, and straw-colored kids, came in and 
sat down beside him, saying, 'Well, McKin- 
ney, what can I do for yea ? ' 

" * Oh,* said the poor sufferer, ' the doctor 
says I can't live long, and I've got such a 
load here,' putting his hand on his breast. 
'I've been a very wicked man. Can't yer do 
something for me ^ ' 

"'Oh, yes,' said the priest, putting on an 
elegant purple sash meantime; 'you'll feel 
better soon.' 

"Taking out a prayer-book, he read a Latin 
prayer. 

" * And now don't you feel better } ' 

" ' Oh, no,' said McKinney, groaning in 
distress of body and soul; 'it's there yet.' 

"The priest read another Latin prayer, with 
no better effect. Then drawing forth a small 
gold box containing ointment, and a piece of 
pink cotton, he commenced to anoint his fore- 
head, chin, and the tips of his fingers and toes. 
*Now,' he says, 'you are all right. You'll 
soon be before your judge, and your sins are 
all forgiven. Now where's your money?' 



128 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

*'The poor fellow instructed me to get it for 
him, and I gave into his hand fifty dollars. 
Father Boyle says, * Now give me that money, 
and when you die, I'll come and have you 
well laid out, and give you a good burial in 
Mount Olivet Cemetery, among the Catholics, 
and you shall have a handsome stone.' 

"McKinney placed the money in his hands, 
and the priest, making me a very polite salu- 
tation, took his leave. Then the poor sufferer 
directed me to take from his vest pocket a 
ten dollar bill, and said, ' Here, mother dear, 
take this and buy something to remember 
your poor soldier by when he's dead and 
gone.' 

" * McKinney,' I said, ' you know you have 
a wife and seven children who are very poor, 
and whom you say you have abused in times 
past; this money belongs to them, as well as 
the fifty dollars you gave to Father Boyle. 
I will write them and send them the money.' 

"To this he assented, and I then asked if 
he felt any better. 

" ' Oh, no, mistress dear,' he answered, 
*the load is still there. Won't you pray for 



LED ON. 129 

me ? I've been such a wicked man, and how 
can I go before my judge?' 

" * But,' said I, * you thought the priest could 
forgive you, and would not believe what I read 
to you, that Jesus Christ alone was the 
Saviour of sinners.* 

" * Oh, read it again, mistress dear, and I 
will listen,' he said; *I cannot die with this 
load here.' 

"I read and explained over and over that 
Jesus was the friend of sinners ; that he 
pitied and forgave the thief on the cross. 
Finally McKinney dropped the burden that 
had agonized him so long, by trusting Christ 
to forgive him, and I called in my Catholic 
boys to see how easy one could die who 
trusted alone in the Saviour. 

" ' It's gone now, mother dear,' he gasped ; 
' I feel so easy and willing to go.' 

''He died; and O, such a relief! His nurse 
sent for Father Boyle, but he never made his 
appearance in the hospital after that, and poor 
McKinney was laid away with no other 
honors save what was conferred upon him by 
the Massachusetts flag, beneath whose folds 



130 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

he was carried to his rest. The poor widow 
received the nurse's letter and money, and 
sent her a letter full of gratitude and thanks 
in reply." 

Mrs. Pomroy had several lucrative positions 
offered her while at Columbia College. One, 
an interest in an orphanage in Philadelphia. 
The president of the asylum visited her, and 
Miss Dix urged it upon her as a position 
that would confer great honor; but she mod- 
estly declined, saying that her health was not 
firm enough to engage in such an undertaking. 
She was again urged by Miss Dix to accept 
a position as matron in a fine new hospital 
at New Haven, Conn. Again, it was to be 
matron of the Girls' Industrial School, at Lan- 
caster. She says of this last call : 

" Doctor Crosby, the surgeon in charge, said 
he would not let me go. And the boys all 
exclaimed after their fashion, "• Bully for Doc- 
tor Crosby ! ' " 

She was urged again to leave the hospital 
and take charge of the Soldiers' Free Library 
in Washington, when Mr. Fowle, who had 
had charge of it, should leave for Boston ; but 



LED ON. 131 

Doctor Crosby again interposed, and she says, 
"I have not seen our Brigadier-General Dix 
about it yet, and I dread to say anything to 
her." 

In spite of the weary round of duties that 
were fast making inroads upon her physical 
strength, she put by this proposal of a more 
easy and congenial service, and kept straight 
on in the path before her. 

In March of 1863, the surgeon, seeing that 
she needed a change, gave her a few days' 
furlough, which she spent at the White House. 
It was at this time Mrs. Pomroy attended the 
first of a series of receptions, and not willing 
to share her good fortune alone, she asked and 
obtained the privilege of inviting her friends 
from the hospital to have a hand shake with 
the President, and go throughout the house and 
conservatory at the next reception. 

The invitations were accepted, as may be 
supposed, with alacrity, and the event was 
looked forward to with the liveliest anticipations 
from highest to lowest. The soldiers were in- 
structed by the nurse to provide themselves 
with clean white gloves, and to look their best. 



132 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AKD "WHITE HOUSE. 

It was a rare favor for the hard-worked nurses, 
officers and soldiers of the hospital, and we 
doubt not their associate was as gratified to 
obtain the favor as were they to accept it. 

During this visit she witnessed at the Capi- 
tol the marriage of Mr. John A. Fowle and 
Miss Elida B. Rumsey, in the House of Rep- 
resentatives, taking with her an exquisite 
bouquet which Mrs. Lincoln had ordered to be 
made for the bride. The marriage service was 
performed by Rev. Mr. Quint, of Jamaica 
Plain. 

**The same evening she attended the dedica- 
tion of the Soldiers' Free Library, the opening 
service of which was conducted by the same 
gentleman. There was speaking by Mr. Fowle 
and others, and the bride sang, Flee as a bird 
to your moiuitaiii^ 

"On Monday evening," she writes, "was the 
grandest and largest gathering of the people 
at the Presidential reception. The whole house 
was brilliantly lighted and decorated with flowers 
in the greatest profusion. Long before the hour 
appointed (eight and one half o'clock) the 
passages leading into the mansion were crowded 




■V. m ' 




LED ON. 133 

with ladies and gentlemen, and soldiers were 
stationed at the door to prevent unnecessary- 
crowding. In coming down-stairs and going 
through the hall to the Blue Room, where the 
President stood with Mrs. Lincoln, it pleased 
me to see so many of our brave soldiers, who 
acted as guards to the doors and halls. There 
were two officers at each door with muskets ; 
and, I thought, these boys, as well as myself, 
will never forget this grand reception in war 
time ; and, if there lives are spared, they will 
tell their children's children of this night. I 
never saw such a brilliant affair. Crowds 
of ladies magnificently dressed, leaning on the 
arms of distinguished men, many of them 
officers from the military and naval departments, 
with Generals Fremont and Halleck, Senator 
Sumner, besides foreign ministers. After shak- 
ing hands with the President, the company 
passed through the Red, Blue and Green 
rooms, into the large East room, where the 
promenade commenced, the President and an 
elegantly dressed lady leading off. 

"It was the largest gathering ever known at 
the White House, and hundreds went away 



134 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

who could not gain admittance. At half-past 
twelve we were glad to go to our quiet room, 
for our eyes were satisfied with seeing, and our 
ears with hearing. After stopping five days at 
the White House, I came home and found 
my boys all doing well, pleased not only to 
see me, but the fine flowers from the conserv- 
atory, which reminded them of home and 
friends." 

The following April we may infer that she 
again detected physical weakness, for she writes : 
" I must gather up all the strength and 
energy I can for the next expected battle. Oh, 
how we are dreading to see the sick and 
wounded brought to us ! Last Sabbath Mr. 
Lincoln rode up with his family, and invited 
me to come to the White House and get 
rested. He says I must not get worn out, 
for he wants me to live to a good old age." 

In her next she writes: *'The President sent 
his carriage for me on Tuesday, and I passed 
an exceedingly pleasant time until Wednesday, 
when I became very sick, and had to beg 
hard to have them take me to my bed in the 
hospital, for I felt assured that I was going 



LED ON. 1.35 

to have a hard sickness, and I did not feel 
so much at home there as in the College. 

" I came home at twelve o'clock, and three 
physicians were immediately called. After 
keeping me under the influence of chloroform 
until twelve, and injecting an opiate in my 
arm as an experiment, I was at last relieved, 
although so weak and worn that I came to 
the conclusion that Woodlawn must open her 
bosom to receive this poor, feeble clay. After 
stimulating me so I could speak, I told them 
that if I did not recover, to have my body em- 
balmed (as they often do the soldiers) and 
send it to Chelsea ; made all necessary 
arrangements, and through it all felt calm and 
happy, not knowing what the Lord had in store 
for me, but leaving all to him to do as he 
thought best. 

"My poor, sick soldiers walked the hall, and 
for hours waited outside my chamber, saying 
that they could not go to bed until I was 
better. Such affection throughout the hospital, 
the nurses say, has never been seen or felt. 

"The President and wife say I must come 
back to rest when I am able, but you must 



136 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAX AND WHITE HOUSE. 

know I am under military discipline, and we 
have an High Priestess over us to keep us in 
charge, so we have to think twice and speak 
once." 

As she gained in health, her letters became 
more cheerful. She writes: "Hospital life has 
its pleasures as well as its sorrows, just as 
life, with all its bitter, has a larger share of 
sweet, if we only look at it in the right 
way. 

" One of the pleasant things that come to us 
daily, is the mail, which brings news from 
home and friends. It is distributed every day, 
Sunday excepted. When the orderly reads the 
names on each floor, the soldiers flock around 
him, and after the letters have been dis- 
tributed, there is great stillness, for each one 
is intent on his or her letter. 

** While I go my rounds I observe the differ- 
ent countenances. James has a letter from his 
youngest sister, and one of my sergeants has 
a letter from the one he has told me about, 
which letter does him more good than medicine, 
for his has been a long time the heart disease. 
In the corner sits my pet boy, trying his best 



LED ON. ; 13T 

to make out the words that a poor widowed 
mother had written, whose early education was 
limited, and his still more so. Yet he smiles 
as I ask him, * From mother ? ' 

** * That it is,' in bold reply ; * and she tells 
me to prove myself a good soldier, trusting in 
God, and if I never see her again, she feels 
that God will take care of her as he has prom- 
ised.' The big tears roll down his cheeks, as 
he finally says, *My poor mother!' and gives 
me the epistle to read, which seems like gold 
to him. 

" Oh ! how often has my heart welled up when 
my dear boys come to me to read their letters 
to them ; and I, too, can sympathize with 
those widowed mothers, whose last one has 
left them to serve his country. 

"On the next bed lies my oldest, with hair 
that indicates the whitening hand of age, and 
the tear starts as he takes hold of my hand, 
and tells me his dear wife and children are 
well; that kind fi-iends have helped them 
through a hard year of sickness and sorrow, 
for he had two sons in the army, and one 
had died. He still keeps on reading the letter. 



138 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

while it seems hard work to tell me, for the 

tears. *Yes, she thanks you for writing so 

often when my life was despaired of, and 

hopes God's blessing may rest upon you for 

all you have done for me.' These are the 

drops of honey that sweeten our pathway, and 
we enjoy hospital life in war time." 

When peace shall come and hope shall smile again, 
A thousand soldier hearts in Northern climes 
Shall tell their little children, in their rhymes, 
Of the sweet saint who blessed the old war times. 



CHAPTER VI. 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 



IN May Mrs. Pomroy's active work among 
the wounded begins again, as she writes : 
"We have just taken in and cared for one 
hundred men, and the worst cases are in my 
ward. Miss Dix came and wanted me to go 
with her to Fortress Monroe, as some badly 
wounded are there, and few of the female 
nurses can dress wounds; but I have seven 
men whose lives depend more upon good care 
than anything else, and the surgeon in charge 
would not let me off. 

" Oh, the work to do, and Saturday night ! 
The business I have to attend to is enough 
without the wounded." 

We cannot doubt this, when we read again 
that she received calls that week from friends 
sent by Miss Dix, and Mrs. Wells, from Sena- 

139 



140 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

tors and their wives, sanitary and state agents, 
beside having the charge of boxes sent to 
her for distribution. 

She writes soon after of visiting the wounded 
in Cliftburn Hospital, at the request of Miss 
Dix, who furnished her with money sufficient 
for their need. She found them in a very 
filthy condition, and longing to see the face of 
some woman, as they had only feeble soldiers 
like themselves to care for them. She obtained 
some luxuries for the sickest, had them cooked 
and sent, and says, " How thankful I felt that 
I could go and do a little, and then interest 
others in going." 

Again she writes : " As my wounded patients 
are all doing well. Miss Dix invited me to 
go with her and visit some of the hospitals 
in Washington. The first one was the Saint 
Aleosus Hospital, which is under the control 
of the Sisters of the Sacred Heart. 

''This order wear black woollen dresses and 
capes, white muslin caps or bonnets, with black 
woollen veils hanging negligently graceful over 
the back ; thick boots and checked aprons. A 
heavy leaden cross, and quite a large leaden 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 141 

heart, are suspended from the neck. What 
looking objects to wait upon our sick and 
dying boys! The surgeons say generally that 
they prefer Catholics to Protestants, and I feel 
ashamed to hear that. Many of our Protestant 
nurses get married, and that troubles Miss 
Dix and the surgeons. 

"I should like to give you a description of 
the market here. It looks like a dozen old 
sheds put up, and you can buy all kinds of 
cottons, as well as fruit, butter, eels, mouse- 
traps, nails, and the like, all mixed on one 
stand. The market is closed at two o'clock, 
and as there are no doors, each one packs 
up his rubbish, and hand-carts take the articles 
home till next market day, which is either 
Saturday or Tuesday." 

One of the novelties that grew out of the 
necessities of the times, was the bakery in 
the basement of the Capitol. The vault under 
the Rotunda was used as a storeroom for flour, 
where eight thousand barrels were sometimes 
stored. In the vicinity of the fountain were 
eight ovens, tended by forty bakers, and out- 
side the building were six more double-sized 



142 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 



ovens. These ovens were capable, in all, of 
furnishing sixty-four thousand loaves of bread 
per day. Day in and day out, these great 
receptacles turned out their loads of suste- 
nance for the hungry soldiers in the hospital 
and on the march. And hundreds of sight- 
seers came here to look with wondering curi- 
osity upon this novel exhibit of the exigencies 
of the war. 

The Fourth of July was celebrated at the 
hospital with unusual demonstration. A fine 
programme had been arranged by Mr. and 
Mrs. Fowle, including speeches by prominent 
men, singing, and martial music. The boys 
were up and ready by five o'clock in the 
morning, completing arrangements in the mess- 
room, where the celebration was to be held if 
the weather proved unfavorable for an out-door 
meeting. Introductory remarks were made by 
Mr. Fowle, and Mrs. Fowle sang patriotic 
airs at frequent intervals. 

Among the notable speakers was the brother 
of John Brown, who was received with immense 
cheering. The soldiers sang the John Brown 
song, and Homey Sweet Hoine\ a letter from 



1 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 143 

Governor Andrew was read, expressing heart- 
felt sympathy and regrets at being unable to 
be present. Altogether, it was a notable day 
at *'01d Columbia." 

Soon after this Mrs. Pomroy was called to 
the White House to attend upon Mrs. Lin- 
coln, who was suffering from injuries received 
by a fall from her carriage. It was made 
evident, afterward, that a plan had been con- 
certed by Secessionists to take the life of the 
President, on his usual daily drive from the 
Soldiers' Home to the White House. He had 
frequently received threatening letters, and the 
night before this accident, at the instigation 
of friends, he had consented to take the ride 
on horseback, with a body-guard of cavalry, 
consisting of twenty-five men, mounted on 
picked horses. He accordingly did so, Mrs. 
Lincoln following shortly after in the carriage. 
Meanwhile the screws that held the driver's 
seat in place, had been removed by unknown 
hands. When at the top of a winding decliv- 
ity, the seat gave way, precipitating the 
driver and footman 'to the ground. The horses 
became unmanageable, and Mrs. Lincoln, in 



144 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

trying to get from the carriage, was also 
thrown to the ground, against a sharp stone, 
receiving a dangerous wound upon the head. 
She was carried to the nearest hospital, her 
wounds were dressed, and she was conveyed 
back to the Soldiers' Home. 

Mr. Lincoln, who was sent for from the 
White House, immediately went for Mrs. Pom- 
roy. She accompanied him at once, and for 
three weeks was a close attendant, night and 
day, in the sick room. At the end of that 
time Mrs. Lincoln so far recovered as to be 
able to journey, and her nurse, refusing an 
urgent invitation to accompany her, returned 
to the hospital, suffering severely in health 
from her long and close confinement. 

During this sojourn in Mr. Lincoln's family, 
her sympathies were deeply enlisted. Mr. Lin- 
coln went to her in his troubles as to a 
family friend. An attack upon his person was 
expected at any time. To Mrs. Pomroy's ques- 
tion, "What will you do about showing your- 
self in public.^" he said, "I can do nothing 
different from what I am doing; I shall leave 
it all with my Heavenly Father." 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 145 

The battle of Vicksburg was raging, and 
then came the fearful loss of life at Gettys- 
burg, then the battle of Port Hudson. " The 
Lord have mercy on those poor fellows ! " he 
said, as he walked the floor in an agony of 
distress. "This is a righteous war, and God 
will protect the right. Many lives will be 
sacrificed on both sides, but I have done the 
best I could, trusting in God. If they gain 
this important point we are lost, but if we 
could only gain it, we shall have carried a 
great point, and I think we shall have a great 
deal to thank God for; for we have Vicks- 
burg and Gettysburg already." 

She said : " Mr. Lincoln, prayer will do 
what nothing else will; can you not pray.?" 

"Yes, I will;" while the tears were dropping 
down his haggard and worn face. " Pray for 
me;" and he went alone to his room. Could 
the nation have heard his earnest petition, as 
the nurse did, they would have fallen on their 
knees in reverential sympathy. 

At twelve o'clock at night, while the sol- 
diers were guarding the house, a sentinel, rid- 
ing quickly, halted in front of the house, with 



146 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

a telegram, that was carried up to the Presi- 
dent. A few moments after, the door opened 
into the sick room where sat the weary nurse, 
and the President, standing under the chande- 
lier, with one of his most radiant expressions, 
said, " Good news ! good news ! Port Hudson is 
ours! The victory is ours, and God is good!" 

She said, " Nothing like prayer in times of 
trouble." 

He answered, " Yes, O, yes ! praise too ; for 
prayer and praise go together." 

While an occupant of the White House, a 
poor widow who had a soldier son lying dead, 
had tried day after day to see the President, 
and as often had been repulsed by the ushers 
on duty. At last she found out Mrs. Pomroy, 
and poured into her sympathetic ear the story 
of her troubles. 

''Could she see the President, and would he 
listen to her? " 

Mrs. Pomroy promised to see him at once, 
and he replied to her request : 

*' Let her come at eight o'clock, immediately 
after breakfast, and I will hear her the first 
one." 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 147 

She came, and told him her sad story, beg- 
ging that she might have the dead body of her 
son to take home with her. In tones of sym- 
pathy, he said to her : 

" God will pity you, and I will give you a 
note ; if it is possible, you may cross the lines, 
but I am afraid it is not." 

Mr. Lincoln felt more than ever his obligation 
towards Mrs. Pomroy in "saving Mrs. Lincoln's 
life," (as he told his friends at the White House,) 
and was ready to grant any request she might 
deem reasonable. 

He took her back to the hospital, as he had 
done heretofore, with a profusion of flowers 
heaped in their laps, and in every available 
space in the carriage, for her soldier boys. 

From there she writes : " It does seem to 
me that God has been trying me, to see 
where he will put me next. What new expe- 
rience he will suffer me to pass through 
is known only to him. Our dear, good Presi- 
dent ! The Lord bless him, and comfort his . 
poor heart, tried and tempted as he is, and no 
one to comfort him in times like these. . . . 

"I have had a fine young man under my care 



148 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

for three months, and on Sunday morning he 
was struck with death. He lingered all day 
and night, until Monday morning, at half-past 
one, he died. He leaves a good Christian wife 
and two little children, besides a large circle 
of friends to mourn his death. But God did 
not forget me, even in that trying hour, for 
my attendant, a little Vermont boy, who is an 
orphan, came and knelt down at my side, 
while I was holding the hand of my dying 
soldier and said, * Mother, will you pray for 
me, that God will forgive my sins, and prepare 
me for death ? ' Oh, what an hour that was ! 
Every one around us in that large room 
quietly sleeping, with the full moon looking in 
upon us, and me, at the dying bed of a fellow 
soldier, pleading with God for eternal life for 
the living, while the other was gasping for 
breath that seemed almost gone. I never felt 
so near Heaven in my life. 

"I miss my dear boy, and his vacant bed 
speaks to me of suffering; but I am cheered 
by my little orphan, who now is rejoicing in 
the Saviour's love." 

The boy to whom she refers has been 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 149 

noticed in a previous letter, having been with 
her several months. He had been reared 
among the hills of Vermont, never knowing a 
mother's love, or remembering a mother's kiss. 
Ill treated by his grandparents, with no knowl- 
edge of reading or writing, he ran away and 
enlisted, and was brought into the hospital in 
a sick and wounded condition. Mrs. Pomroy 
was kind to him, and when he became her 
attendant, she taught him to read and write, 
so that in the month of July he could pen 
her a letter after his own weak fashion, to 
speak the love and gratitude with which he 
requited her. 

We trust this letter will not seem too trivial 
for perusal, voicing, as it did, the loyal devo- 
tion of many a poor soldier's heart, unable to 
express it, even in this poor, faltering way. 

Columbia College Hospital, 
Washington, D. C, July 14, 1863. 
Dear Mother : — And indeed can I call thee dear mother .? 
"With your pre-consent it is indeed a great pleasure to call you so, 
if it would not be obnoxious to you. I have loved and re- 
spected that title since I was old enough to know the need 
of a mother's love and soothing words, to cheer him in his 
sadness and melancholy moods. Neither have I known the 
worth of a mother until you used me with so much kindness; 



150 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

you could not used me better under any considerations ; but, 
mother, I have not done by you as I have been done by ; 
but I hope hereafter that if I am permitted to stay here with 
you, that I shall conduct myself as a faithful and dutiful son 
should to his affectionate mother. " May the Lord Jesus " 
be with me, and give me a good heart : such a one that 
shall be good in his sight, and in Mrs. R. R. Pomroy's 
sight, and that she can love. 

Affectionate mother! And, indeed, will she be my own dear 
mother? Little does she think how that word sounds in my 
ears. 

O Father ! do bless Mrs. Pomroy, and may she have a good 
heart, one that will beat to thee, and to thy cause, and may 
she love the motherless DeWitt next to her own son. And, 
Father in Heaven, wilt thou be with me, and give me a 
good heart, so that I may find favor both in thy sight, and 
in Mrs. R. R. Pomroy's, too. And may I be faithful and dutiful 
as a humble Christian in thy sight, whether I am in the 
world's sight or not. And may we love each other as both 
mother and son, and may it be a holy affection in thy sight. 
God be with thee, and give you strength to bear your trials 
and afflictions with meekness, and patience, and a Christian 
fortitude. God be with thee, and bless thee, dear Mother 
Pomroy. I ask for the Lord Jesus Christ's sake, in his name. 
Amen. DeWitt Ray. 

N. B. And if I have offended you by calling you mother, 
by letting me know it, I will not ever commit the same 
offence again. Yours, and may the Lord bless thee, dear 
mother. D. W. R. 



Mrs. Pomroy soon lost her faithful attendant, 
as she writes later : " I have now an invalid for an 
attendant, and I hope to reclaim him, as he looks 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 151 

like — well, no matter. With God all things are 
possible. 

''My dear little orphan said to me, as I took 
his hand for the last time, 'Mother, if I die 
on the battle-field now, I have found two good 
friends, a Christian mother and a loving Saviour.* 
How my heart melted at those words. I feel 
lonely without him." 

She never saw her loyal-hearted boy again. 
He died at his post ; shot instantly through 
the head while guarding a rifle-pit in the far- 
away South. His open Bible, found upon his 
bed, just as he had left it to go on duty, 
indicated that in his last hours he was faith- 
ful to his God as to his country. In his vest 
pocket next his heart, was found a picture of 
Mrs. Pomroy, inscribed on the back : " My 
own dear mother, Mrs. R. R. Pomroy, Chelsea, 
Mass." 

His captain took the picture, inclosed it in 
a letter to her, in which he speaks of his 
excellent character and example, and describes 
his death. Mrs. Pomroy received it while on 
her next furlough, in the month of October, 
and set out at once to his mountain home in 



152 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

Vermont, to carry the information to his 
grandparents, and to take to them the money 
and keepsakes he had left in her possession. 

Arrived at the lonely little town, she found 
her way, by inquiry, to a little red house on 
the top of the hill, where DeWitt's home had 
been. She was invited in, and asked to take 
a seat on the settle by the large, old-fashioned 
fireplace. Then she commenced inquiries about 
their grandson. They spoke of him with evi- 
dent pride. 

"He has been in a hospital," they said, "and 
he has learned to read and write, and writes 
us beautiful letters about a dear mother he 
has found there who has taught him everything; 
and, strangest of all, he has got religion." 

And they took the worn package of letters 
from their accustomed place to verify the truth 
of their assertion. 

Mrs. Pomroy then made herself known ; 
told them she was the " mother " of whom he 
had written, and then the sad news of his 
death. The poor old couple could scarcely 
believe her. Tears of sorrow and gratitude 
were mingled in one as they clasped her hand 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 153 

in wonderment at the story of his life and 
death. 

"John," said the old lady, "harness up the 
horse and go round and get the neighbors." 
Preparations were made for a gathering, and 
towards night the room was completely filled, 
although the nearest neighbor lived a half-mile 
distant. 

They looked with wondering curiosity upon 
a woman who had passed two years in a 
Southern hospital ; who had seen and taken 
care of DeWitt, and had taught him how to 
write those fine letters which he had sent 
home. But when she told them the sad scenes 
of her hospital life, how DeWitt had sought and 
found the Saviour, and the change that had 
come over the wild, wayward boy they used 
to know, when he was brought under the influ- 
ence of the Divine Spirit, it was too much 
for their fortitude. Many a tear was wiped 
away by the worn coat-sleeve ; many a woman's 
face was buried in her handkerchief before the 
recital closed. Then there was a season of 
prayer, such as had not been known by them 
for a long time. 



154 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

They begged her on going away to stay 
among them for a week. Bat she felt obliged 
to go the next morning, and leave the seed 
she had dropped into the hearts of these 
humble people to take root, not knowing what 
the harvest should be, until the end of all 
things. 

Next day the horse was again harnessed, and 
the old man took her to the nearest country 
store, where he purchased for her a simple 
gold ring, as a reminder of the motherless 
DeWitt whom she had befriended. 

Mrs. Pomroy spent her second furlough in 
the companionship of friends, as before, attend- 
ing several public gatherings. Among the most 
noticeable of these was one held in Salem, at 
the residence of Senator H . 

She had met him in the hospital through the 

agency of the President, who told Mr. H 

that there was a good Massachusetts woman 
in Columbia College, who was the best friend 
he had found, and urged him to go and see 

her. Mr. H went, accordingly, and made 

her acquaintance, inviting her to come to Salem 
on her next furlough an4 visit his family. 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 155 

She accepted the invitation, and received here 
every attention. 

Having left the dinner-table, she was sur- 
prised at the frequent ringing of the door-bell. 
The occasion of it was evident later, when a 
room full of ladies and gentlemen were pre- 
sented to her, and she was invited to speak 
to them upon her hospital work, and her expe- 
rience at the White House. Question followed 
question until her voice grew faint through 
exhaustion and she was left to the quiet of her 
own room. 

At this time occurred the loss of her journal. 
While passing through the crowded streets of 
Boston in a friend's carriage, they stopped to 
witness the passing of a company of soldiers. 
The journal was stowed away, together with 
money, a gold watch-chain, and other valuables, 
in a bag at the bottom of the carriage. No 
suspicion of the loss was entertained until she 
reached home, when it was found to be missing, 
and no amount of inquiry or advertising ever 
served to restore it. 

She felt this misfortune like the loss of 
a friend, for in its pages were recorded pas- 



156 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. - 

sages the most interesting of her hfe's his- 
tory; events that she had confided solely to 
Its keeping, which no effort of memory could 
ever recall, so closely did one event crowd 
upon another in the span of those two event- 
ful years. She makes frequent allusion to it 
in letters that followed her return. At one 
time: 

**I mourn my journal, as there is not a day 
passes but I have occasion to look in it. 
This is really a sad affliction, but I try to 
feel some good may come of it after a while." 

And again: "Perhaps I was planning too 
much for the future about my journal, for 
I did' mean to give some parts of it to the 
public. But the Lord will take care of me, 
without my being anxious for the morrow." 

Her first letter on her return was written 

for the Chelsea Telegraph and Pioneer, which 

we give as follows: 

Washington, October 28, 1863. 
Mr. Mason :-I arrived safely at my place of duty 
last evening, and as I entered the lower hall I was greeted 
with, "Welcome Home!" As I farther advanced, up on the 
fourth floor I heard well-known voices exclaim, " Mother has 
come!" and I never saw happier faces as I shook hands 
With each of them, and listened to their tales of suffering 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 157 

and their counting the days when I should be at home. I 
do not know which was the most happy, the boys or myself, 
for they clustered around me like my own family to know 
if I had come back to stay, and like questions. I found all 
doing well but two, who had been confined to their beds for 
some time; and a third, who has a ball in his back, on 
whom an operation was performed yesterday, but without 
finding the ball. He has been a sufferer for five months, 
and is one of my three white boys who are learning to 
read. I make the distinction of color, because I am teach- 
ing three contrabands their letters — a class of six, all of 
them over twenty, just learning to read. 

There has been but little change since I left, excepting 
the removal of Mr. and Mrs. Fowle to Boston, which we 
all regret very much, as they have been unwearied in doing 
for our brave boys what no one else would have done. The 
sweet songs that Mrs. Fowle sung often kindled our patri- 
otism when the fire was getting rather low, for we have to 
talk about the war and sing patriotic songs to some, or they 
would have none at all on getting up from a sick bed. 

The first sound that greeted my ear this morning was 
the mufiled drum and fife, telling us that another of our 
brave boys was to be laid away in the " Soldiers' Home," 
where are laid already over eight thousand of those we 
hold so dear. I have often visited the spot, and could 
never help shedding tears for the dear ones at home, some 
of whom, perhaps, may never know where father, husband, 
or brother are laid, for in passing along I have often 
observed on the walnut slabs that mark these graves, this 
inscription. Unknown. 

During the last two years in this place, I have had under 
my charge five hundred and seven boys, and have lost by 
death only thirty^one, and only two of those from wounds. 
I feel to bless God that he has given me health and a 
willing mind to do his work. 

The nurse is comforted by the sweet thought that friends 
are sustaining her in her many trials by oft-repeated tokens 



158 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

and many prayers, and who have shown so much sympathy 
toward her in view of the recent loss of her journal. She 
takes courage from the lesson of the spider, whose house is 
often pulled down, still to persevere in a new journal^ 
and with God's grace assisting her to commence on a new 
year with greater zeal and endure like a good soldier the 
trials that may come, feeling that sunshine will succeed the 
clouds, as it has thus far along life's journey, and that God 
would use her in his own way to comfort the sick and 
dying, who shall sacrifice their lives for their country. 

R. R. P. 

In November she writes : " We have had 
more new nurses, and such doings ! Then 
SO many new ward-masters ordering us round. 
The work is getting hard, and were it not 
for the sake of my boys, I should be tempted 
to leave. I wish you could know how our 
poor fellows are treated, and if I were not 
here to take their part, they would fare much 

worse Mrs. Secretary Wells sent 

some pickled beets to me yesterday, and what 
a luxury it was to the poor sick ones! I 
fed them once round with it, a slice at a 
time, then round the second time, then went 
to the lower floor and did the same. 

"I have had a visit from the novel-writer, 
Mrs. Southworth, and have also spent an 
afternoon with her, in her pretty house at 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 159 

Georgetown. Her son is a surgeon on my 

ward The surgeon in charge told 

me yesterday that all the worst cases brought 
into the hospital were to be put in my 
ward, as he had full confidence in me as a 
careful nurse ; and more than that, he has left 
his pocket case of instruments, for me to 
probe or get out small pieces of bone, also 
to plug the wounds when necessary." 

In a letter dated November 23, she writes: 
"At two last night two hundred wounded came 
to the hospital and seventy-five more were 
brought in on stretchers. Our beds are filled, 
and some have to sleep on the floor." 

It was not uncommon at night time to see 
beside the beds here and there, the wooden 
legs or arms of the sleeping occupants. But 
this, like all other hospital spectacles, became 
so common that it ceased to shock the most 
fastidious. One poor fellow, who had left his 
leg on the battle-ground of Fair Oaks, whittled 
out his own wooden leg while in the hospital, 
and became so happy and resigned in the 
possession of it that he recorded his satisfac- 
tion in verse, as follows : 



160 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 
L-E-G (ELEGY) ON MY LEG. 

Good leg, thou wast a faithful friend, 

And truly hast thy duty done ; 
I thank thee most that to the end 

Thou didst not let this body run. 

Strange paradox ! that in the fight 

Where I of thee was thus bereft, 
I lost my left leg for " the right," 

And yet the right's the one that's left. 

But while the sturdy stump remains, 

I may be able yet to patch it ; 
For even now I've taken pains 

To make an L-E-G to match it. 

In November, Mrs. Pomroy writes again to 
Mr. Mason as follows : " When I arrived home 
I had to report myself to the surgeon in charge, 
and also to Miss Dix, who seemed pleased to 
see me back again, and asked me if I knew 
of any ladies from Massachusetts, who would 
like to come as nurses. 

" I told her there were several whom I 
knew would like to come, but they could not 
with her ideas of nurses. Why ! she thought 
they were plain and easy. They surely are, 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 161 

and I will give a few of them for those who 
are contemplating the subject. 

"They must know how to cook all kinds of 
low diet (for in Columbia the nurses have 
always done that). She would like to have 
them wear brown, black, or drab dresses, very 
small hoops, no curls, no jewelry, nor flowers 
on their bonnets. They must look neat them- 
selves, and keep their boys and wards the 
same. Must write and read for their boys, 
but not for any book or newspaper; must 
strictly obey all the rules and regulations of 
the hospital ; must be in their own room at 
taps, or nine o'clock, unless obliged to be 
with the sick; must not go to any place of 
amusement in the evening; must not walk out 
with any private or officer; must not allow a 
private or officer in their own room except 
on business ; must be willing to take the 
forty cents per day that is allowed by gov- 
ernment, to assist them in supplying what the 
rations (or eighteen cents per day) will not 
furnish in food ; pay for their own washing, 
shoes and clothing; and then, if there is a 
surplus^ it is expected that it will be spent 



162 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

upon the soldiers, to make them comfortable, 
for no nurse must come into the service with 
the idea of laying up one cent. 

" She wants all who are under her super- 
vision to be self-denying, self-sacrificing, with 
a large heart and open hand, to follow her 
example in doing all they can for the soldier. 

" She is worthy of imitation, as she is seen 
on the battle-fields binding up wounds or giv- 
ing stimulants, or stopping hemorrhage till a 
surgeon can come, or giving them food in 
cases of almost starvation. 

"She also wants good Christian women, who 
can be mothers to our dying boys, for often 
the question is asked, *Will you pray for 
me ? ' Hard it must be for the dying to have 
no one to offer consolation or breathe a prayer 
for him who will soon be beyond the sound 
of mortal voice. 

"Also all who may apply must be educated, in- 
telligent, and with a large share of patience, for- 
bearance and sobriety; quiet, careful not to 
offend, being willing rather to suffer wrong than 
to do wrong, adding Paul's exhortation, * As far 
as in you lieth, live peaceably with all men.' " 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 163 

The editor adds the following postscript : 
*'Is it not unjust to require these noble-hearted 
women to make such unwonted sacrifice, with- 
out reasonable pay, while every he that wears 
a shoulder-strap or performs any sort of service 
whatever, has his appropriate reward?" 

It may be well to add in this connection 
that Miss Dix's promise of a squat of land 
to all those nurses who had done faithful 
service in the war, was never realized ; and 
the instances are comparatively few where any 
emolument has ever accrued to them in remun- 
eration for their untiring services. 

In a letter that follows, in the month of 
November, she gives a history of the routine 
of hospital life as follows : " There has been 
an invoice of wounded brought to us since I 
last wrote you, and seventy were brought in 
on stretchers. They are from Stonington 
Junction. 

"Since they have come to the hospital, they 
seem cheerful and happy. Some say they 
have seen hard service and hard fare, without 
one kind word since they left home, which 
has been two years. 



164 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

"Would like to have you look into my large 
room on Saturday morning and spend the day 
and see the routine of work. The reveille 
is played at five, and all who are able to 
get up, must make their beds, wash, and be 
ready at the drum-call, at six o'clock, for 
breakfast. The nurses have theirs at seven. 
Making of beds, sweeping and dusting done, 
the attendant brings up the breakfast for those 
who are not able to get up. After this, two 
boys wash the dishes, two sweep the rooms, 
two wash the spittoons, while two contrabands 
empty the slops. Then commences the dress- 
ing of wounds, making the boys comfortable, 
some sitting in bed reading, others playing 
checkers, while quite a number are getting 
ready to go to their regiments. Several are 
being shaved, others having their hair cut, 
while another is watering my flowers. 

"At eight, the surgeon's call with drum and 
fife, when everything must be in order. Then 
come the orders for medicines, soap, crackers, 
etc., for not a thing is allowed without an 
order from the surgeon of the ward. 

"After wounds are dressed, blisters, plasters 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 165 

and medicines attended to, the Bible is read; 
and here a boy takes his from his pocket, 
and tells how it saved his life when shot 
through the lungs, and it parried the force of 
the blow. 

"At eleven o'clock the medicines come up 
from the dispensary, and while administering 
them, a number of invalids came up four 
flights of stairs to see a bead bag from Chelsea, 
made by a widow lady, whose only son fell a 
sacrifice in this cruel war. 

"At twelve o'clock the drum beats, and all 
go to the mess-room for dinner. Company 
almost always at noon, and unless we go at 
the time, we either lose our dinner, or it is 
cold. But there is a carriage, and the lady 
calls for the nurse on the upper floor. She 
knows the ward well, for her feet were the 
first to bring the little luxuries that my sickest 
boys had. 

"It is Mrs. Secretary Wells, with her large 
tin pails ; one with pickles and onions, and 
the other with baked apples. We can afford 
to go without our dinner, as our boys will enjoy 
so much; it is such a comfort to go through 



166 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

the hospital, and give to the desponding and 
sickest, those delicacies. How kindly she 
speaks to the boys, cheering them by her 
smile, and giving them books and papers. 

"After the dinner is through, our sewing 
circle meets ; then all my boys get round a 
bed, and the socks are mended. It is amusing 
to see the pain as well as pleasure they mani- 
fest, as each tugs to outdo the other. There 
are sometimes twenty-five pairs to mend, and 
that helps the nurse. 

"At five o'clock the drum calls for supper. 
After that the wounds are dressed, then at 
seven the surgeons call, when sleeping powders, 
poultices, etc., are administered. At half-past 
pight the drum beats for all to be in bed, 
at nine the bells ring (or taps), then lights 
are extinguished, and all conversation ceases, 
while the nurse arranges the medicine for the 
watchers. So ends the week." 

Mrs. Pomroy, in company with friends, spends 
a day in Virginia this month, visiting, among 
other places of interest, Arlington House, Gen- 
eral Lee's residence. The road thither pre- 
sented a desolate aspect ; no houses to be seen 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 167 

for miles; acres of trees felled, and nothing of 
interest, save the forts that had been erected by 
our Union soldiers to protect Washington. 

The house and grounds of General Lee were 
guarded by Union men. Orders were posted 
in all quarters, forbidding any damage to be 
done, even to the picking of a flower. 

Mrs. Pomroy wanted a memento, and know- 
ing one of the sentinels to be a Massachusetts 
man, she said to -him, "I am a Massachusetts 
woman ; won't you let me have one from among 
all these ? " pointing to a large bed of flowers 
close by. 

The sentinel eyed her with a knowing look, 
and then said : " I am forbidden to give away 
anything here, but I'll turn my back, and you 
may do what you please." 

He did so, and she bore away a souvenir of 
that once proud but fallen estate. 

Going inside they found some of the house 
servants still in the old quarters. Aunt Sal- 
lie, the mother of only nineteen children, too 
feeble and decrepit to leave the old home, was 
interviewed. All of her children, save one, had 
been taken from her and sold into slavery. 



168 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

The iron had entered deep into her soul, 
as every lineament of her worn and wrinkled 
visage bore evidence. 

"Massa Lee powerful hard at de whippin' 
post," she said. 

Sad stories were told of wrongs and cruelty 
committed here. 

At another time she witnessed a touching 
spectacle, when the Invalid Corps, nine thou- 
sand in number, went to the White House, 
to present themselves to the President for 
his inspection. All the way from Meridian 
Hill to the White House, a distance of two 
miles, thronged this legion of heroes from the 
battlefield, minus an arm, minus both arms, 
minus hands and feet, minus a leg, crippled, 
halt, walking on crutches, with slings and 
empty coat sleeves, but bearing proudly these 
marks of honor, such as no distinction of money 
or rank could confer upon them. 

Again, she chronicles another sad day, when 
the Gettysburg burial-ground was dedicated. 
All flags from every fort, hospital and public 
building were at half-mast, while the mock 
funeral, with the booming of cannon, the slow 



OUR FATHER KNOWETH. 169 

and solemn tread of the soldiers, with arms 
reversed, keeping time to the funeral dirges, 
vividly conscious that themselves and numbers 
of others out of this vast concourse of fol- 
lowers must share the same fate before the 
close of another year, added to the solemnity 
of a scene never to be forgotten. 

If, for the age to come, this hour 
Of trial hath vicarious power, 
And, blest by thee our present pain 
Be Liberty's eternal gain, 
Thy will be done. 



CHAPTER VII. 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 



HER journal records the following for 
Wednesday, November 25 : " Busy this 
morning, and in the afternoon received tv/o boxes 
from Salem, with all the fixings for a Thanks- 
giving dinner, expressly for the nurses, from the 
ladies of the Tabernacle Church. Two roast 
turkeys, plum pudding, pies, all kinds of cake, 
cookies and crackers, fruit, jellies, wines, etc. All 
was nicely cooked, and we received it with over- 
flowing hearts. Our gifted Mrs. R. has been 
chosen from among the nurses, to respond in 
fitting terms. The matron, with Mrs R. and 
myself, kept this dinner for a surprise to the 
other nurses, 

** I went into Mrs. R.'s ward that da}^, to see 
a dying soldier who wished to speak to me. 
He took my hand and looked upward as though 

170 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 171 

he were praying God to bless me. He then 
asked me to sing Happy Day, and Am I a 
Soldier of the Cross'? trying to beat time with 
his emaciated hand. Then I tried to sing 
Softly now the Light of Day. When I had 
done, I thought he was gone, but he put his 
hands together and said, * Jesus, I am coming 
home,' and then died." 

December ist she writes: "I feel that I am 
working rather too hard, as my attendant is 
very sick; but whenever the thought comes 
over me, ' How can I leave till this cruel war is 
over.-*' the answer comes, 'Let Him do as 
seemeth best.* I have lately been thinking 
that the day is not far distant when I shall 
lay my burden down." 

A little later on, she writes to a friend : 
" Truly another Thanksgiving has passed, and 
with it trials and many sorrows. I am sitting sad 
and lonely in my little room, wishing I could 
gather some of my dear friends at home around 
me, and relieve my mind of its load. Yes, we 
as a band of self-sacrificing women are made 
a reproach to others. I cannot write all the 
particulars, but I will give you a few hints. 



172 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

**In the first place, we nurses had a good 
Thanksgiving dinner ; and if ever praise and 
thanksgiving went up from human hearts, it 
truly did in the old mess-room, by the nurses, 
for God's unspeakable goodness in leading 
others more highly favored, to think of us. 
We felt to go on with our duties more zeal- 
ously, for as the body is strengthened, so are 
we the better able to do our whole duty ; for 
you know not half the disagreeable things that 
fall to our lot among these sick boys. Well, 
there has been quite a breeze about the nurses 
having turkey, etc. The steward has said that 
the boxes came for the boys* dinner only, and 
the nurses had no right to use them. Accord- 
ingly, I had the letter from Salem read, and 
that did not satisfy, and as I was the receiver, 
I am yoked with all the others in using things 
sent to the boys. 

"Then again, a lady who is not friendly to 
Miss Dix called to see me, and, although a 
perfect stranger, asked me what I thought Miss 
Dix would say, if she knew I wrote for a paper. 
She thought if Miss Dix ever saw those pa- 
pers she would make a stir. 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 173 

" I can truly say I was dumb. I opened not 
my mouth, for she was a Massachusetts woman, 
and a lion in manner. 

"During all this my attendant has been very 
sick, and my surgeon, taking pity upon my 
care-worn looks, wrote for help immediately. I 
was sent a poor invalid, lame, with sore eyes, 
and who had the use of but one hand. The 
surgeon came to my room, saw my distress, 
said I was too sick to be round, and told 
me to stay in my room for a week, and he 
would make things right. The sick boy was 
sent to his company, and not an attendant 
have I had in his place yet, although two 
weeks have passed. 

" Then, three of the nurses have had trouble 
with the ward master, and three others with 
the commissary, and now the surgeon in charge 
has come down on us all, and Old Columbia 
is getting to be rather warm for the nurses, 
and several are thinking about leaving. 

" A note was sent to my surgeon, saying : 
* Nothing but a clerk or a gentleman would 
answer Mrs. Pomroy ; for she tried to have 
them all gentlemen under her, and treated 



174 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

them as though they were, when she ought to 
remember that they were nothing but privates, 
and ought to be treated as such.' 

"Well, I always do forget their rank in 
the army, as long as I know they are brave 
boys. 

"This is the beginning of trouble on my 
third year, and unless my back and side get 
stronger, there will have to be a change. 
Tread on a worm and it will turn ; and 
poor, frail human nature cannot stand every- 
thing. Do not think I have lost my interest 
in the poor soldier ; oh, never for a moment ! 
Could you see what I have to, your whole 
soul would go out for them." 

But there was another ordeal in store for 
her. She had, at this time, some boys reduced 
very low by sickness, who needed something 
besides the coarse food provided for them. 
One wanted some chicken broth, and another 
some tomatoes. She sent down to the steward 
to know if they could be had. He gave her 
attendant a curt refusal, saying that she made 
altogether too much of her boys, and that she 



I Ml WITH YOU ALWAY. 175 

General 's wife visited her that day, and 

asked on leaving what she could do for her. 
On being told the needs of these sick boys, she 
said, ''Wait a few hours and I will send you 
the tomatoes and broth ready for use." 

Time passed, and the lady in her elegant car- 
riage drove up. The footman, with his pail of 
broth in one hand, and his basket of tomatoes 
in the other, with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, 
was about entering the hospital, when he was 
met by the surgeon in charge, who accosted 
him gruffly, saying, "What are you going to do 
with these things .-* '* 

''Take them up to Mrs. Pomroy's room, for 
her sick boys," he replied. 

The surgeon then forbade it, saying there was 
enough in the hospital to feed the boys on, and 
ordered the things put back in the carriage. 

The lady went home justly indignant at this 
insult. Her husband and friends were informed 
of her treatment, and as a result, an article 
appeared next day in the Washington Morning 
CJu'onicle regarding disturbances that had taken 
place at Columbia College. 

Mrs. Pomroy heard the newsboys crying the 



176 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

sensation of the day underneath her window, 
sent down and purchased a paper and read an 
account of the affair well set out, with indig- 
nant comments upon the state of things at 
Columbia College. 

The news was not long in reaching Miss 
Dix. She at once visited Mrs. Pomroy, and 
aksed for an explanation. The truth stated. 
Miss Dix said, "There will be an investigation, 
and you will have to give evidence before 
military officers, together with the other nurses ; 
but don't flinch ; you are in the right, and 
you will come out victorious. If you have to 
leave, I can find other places for you." To 
the other nurses she gave injunctions to "Tell 
the truth, and nothing but the truth." 

The morning of the examination arrived. 
Mrs. Pomroy's trunk was packed ready to be 
sent to the White House, where she expected 
to go. The nurses were called down one by 
one, and she last of all. A large attendance of 
officers, including a medical inspector and med- 
ical director, were present, and received her 
with marked politeness. She was then closely 
questioned as to her family and age, why she 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 177 

left home to go into a hospital, and much 
more. She answered in her usual quiet and 
dignified manner, feeling, as she said, "Not 
afraid to face any of them," so strong was 
she in the truth and righteousness of her 
cause. 

They inquired, *'Have you been obliged to 
send home for anything.?" 
"Oh, yes; many times." 
"And for what.?" 

"Sugar, rice, tea, coffee, wine, etc." 
"How much have you had sent.?" 
" A great many barrels and boxes full. My 
friends have been glad to supply me, and I 
have always shared with the other nurses, and 
sent them outside the hospital, where they 
were needed." 

" Have you ever sent for crackers ? " 
" Yes, often. Frequently my boys would 
have only two crackers apiece, and some weak 
tea, and I felt they needed more to make 
them strong again. When I had a barrel come 
I sent them round to all the soldiers." 

After finishing their investigation, the officers 
dismissed her with every mark of respect. 



178 ECHOES FKOxM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

As a result both the surgeon in charge and 
steward were removed from the hospital, while 
Mrs. Pomroy received the congratulations of 
friends who were overjoyed at the sudden turn 
of events. 

The remainder of the year 1863 .was passed more 
quietly, with now and then an influx of wounded 
men and an occasional visit to the White 
House, or a trip into the surrounding country 
to get supplies for the table or the sick 
boys, that could not be obtained otherwise. 
Christmas passed with festivities suited to the 
day; the boys all had a good Christmas din- 
ner, and there was a flag-raising, with speeches 
and music. 

She speaks in her journal of going to Alex- 
andria, and visiting the church where Washing- 
ton used to worship, and of seeing the battery 
and the great gun which faced the Potomac, 
that weighed two thousand five hundred pounds ; 
of visiting a convalescent camp, and the Freed- 
man's village, where some hundreds of contra- 
bands lived and worked on General Lee's 
farm. They seemed very happy, *' bressing 
Massa Lincoln for freedom." 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 179 

She had frequent intercourse with the contra- 
bands in the hospital. They were employed to 
do the most menial services, and her sympathies 
were strongly enlisted in their behalf. We find 
her busy in her spare moments, teaching them 
to read from primers that had been sent her 
from the North. They never wearied of tell- 
ing her about their slave life and of calling 
down blessings upon the head of their be- 
loved President. 

"Hope Massa Lincoln hab' the highest seat 
in Hebben," was their fervent exclamation. 

The cold, short days now coming on were 
very depressing to the poor invalids who had 
lain for weeks, with little to look forward to. 
Mrs. Pomroy now planned an entertainment 
for them through these contraband followers. 

While visiting at the White House, old 
aunt Mary said to her, ** I wants ye to see 
my son Sammy ; he's powerful smart on de 
bones." 

" What is that } " said Mrs. Pomroy. 

"Why, he plays in der colored band, and 
dey say it's der finest in Washington.'* 

Mrs. Pomroy expressed her desire to meet 



180 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

Sammy and hear the band, and aunt Mary ar- 
ranged a meeting for the next evening. She was 
introduced to Sammy, and invited him to come 
with the members of his band to entertain 
her boys. At the appointed time they made 
their appearance with a full equipment of 
banjos, bones and triangles, and gave such 
a programme as made sick and well catch an 
inspiration of mirth, that was better than 
medicine, better than a sermon, better than any- 
thing else within reach ; and the surgeon ex- 
claimed : 

" What will Mrs. Pomroy do next for her 
boys.?" 

When the New Year came round, they had 
settled down to making bead collars again and 
mending socks. The following lines were found 
in one of the socks, sent by a '* Lively Old 
Lady " in New Hampshire ; and while they 
mended, Mrs. Pomroy was often called on to 
read it. 

By the fireside cosily seated, 

With spectacles riding her nose, 

The Lively Old Lady is knitting 
A wonderful pair of hose. 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 181 

She pities the shivering soldier, 

Who is out in the pelting storm, 
And busily plies her needles 

To keep him hearty and warm. 

Her eyes are reading the embers. 

But her heart is off to the war. 
For she knows what those brave fellows 

Are gallantly fighting for. 
Her fingers as well as her fancy 

Are cheering them on their way, 
Who, under the good old banner, 

Are saving their country to-day. 

She ponders how, in her childhood. 

Her grandmother used to tell 
The story of barefoot soldiers, 

Who fought so long and well. 
And the men of the Revolution 

Are nearer to her than us. 
And that, perhaps, is the reason 

Why she is toiling thus. 

She cannot shoulder a musket. 

Nor ride with cavalry crew. 
But nevertheless she is ready 

To work for the boys who do. 
And yet in " Official Despatches," 

That come from the army or fleet, 
Her feats may have never a notice. 

Though ever so mighty the y^^/. 



182 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

So prithee, proud owner of muscle, 

Or purse-proud owner of stocks. 
Don't sneer at the labors of woman, 

Or smile at her bundle of socks. 
Her heart may be larger and braver 

Than his who is tallest of all, 
The work of her hands as important 

As cash that buys powder and ball. 

And thus while her quiet performance 

Is being recorded in rhyme, 
The tools in her tremulous fingers 

Are running a race with time. 
Strange that four needles can form 

A perfect triangular bound ; 
And equally strange that their antics 

Result in perfecting " The round." 

And now, while beginning "To narrow," 

She thinks of the Maryland mud, 
And wonders if ever the stocking 

"Will wade to the ankle in blood. 
And now she is " Shaping the heel," 

And now she is ready " To bind," 
And hopes if the soldier is wounded. 

It never will be from behind. 

And now she is " Raising the instep," 
Now narrowing off at the toe, 

And prays that this end of the worsted 
May ever be turned to the foe. 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 183 

She gathers the last of the stitches. 

As if a new laurel were won, 
Now placing the ball in the basket, 

Announces the stocking is done. 

We extract from a letter, written January 
1 8th, the following reference to trouble growing 
out of a want of harmony among the nurses. 

" Many trying duties of late have worn 
upon me, especially trouble about the hospital 
clothing, that really needed mending; and do 
not think it egotism in me when I tell you 
I took the responsibility, and advised that all 
the nurses take some garments every week, 
till our four hundred shirts and over three 
hundred pairs of socks, were mended, for I 
felt that we as nurses ought to look after 
those articles — many of them sent from North- 
ern homes, and cotton so high, to say nothing 
of labor and time. It seemed to me that a 
heavy responsibility was resting on this favored 
hospital, and, God giving me words .of wis- 
dom, I would speak. 

''There are always some who never mend 
for themselves at home, and they say they 
did not come to a hospital to mend old 



184 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

clothes, but only to look after the sick. How 
great the patriotism of some, when they come 
to do the poor soldier good, and cannot con- 
descend to mend a shirt to put on his back 
when sick or wounded, or mend a pair of 
socks to cover those poor feet that have 
travelled miles on the battle-field — yes, and even 
tracked it with bloody to save this, our country, 
from ruin. * Consistency, thou art a jewel!'" 

A few months previous to this, the hospital 
was blessed with the presence of a dear little 
girl. It happened in this way. 

A poor sick man who belonged to the 
invalid corps on Meridian Hill, was in the 
early stages of consumption and used frequently 
to speak to Mrs. Pomroy of his wife and child, 
living in New York. He longed to see them, 
but all visits from far away friends were denied. 
One day he ventured to say to her, *'I wish 
my wife could come here in some service ; 
then I could see her once in a while. She 
is strong and well, and used to work." 

Mrs. Pomroy bethought her of a change needed 
in the nurses* cook-room, at the hospital, told 
him to keep up courage and she would see 



I A^I WITH YOU ALWAY. 185 

what could be done. She consulted the matron 
and nurses, who were willing to try the New 
York woman as an experiment, and she was 
sent for and came, bringing little Caty, three 
years old. 

Now a child was an unheard-of thing in 
Columbia College, and at first she was kept 
in a very quiet way, down in the cook's room, 
for fear the surgeon should see her and order 
away both mother and child. 

Little Caty was a sweet creature, and 
soon won the affection of all the nurses, and, 
child-like, would flit out of doors to get a 
stolen look at her father on the hill, and ex- 
change greetings with the poor, infirm soldiers 
who were out walking in the sunshine, trying 
to gain strength. 

One morning she put her little hand in Mrs. 
Pomroy's, and asked if she might go up and 
see the soldiers. Mrs. Pomroy said, "You 
may go up in my room and stay a little 
while, but I can't let you go any further." 
But after a time, by childlike persistency, she 
found her way into the large ward-room, and 
here she was adopted at once into the home and 



186 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

hearts of the soldier-boys, who, many of them, 
had just such Httle ones at home. 

She was like a beam of sunshine ; her 
sweet face and childish prattle, her touching 
sympathy for all the wounded and sick, bright- 
ened many weary, homesick hearts, and when 
she was absent for a day, the men would 
ask, "When are you going to bring Caty up 
again ? " 

Arrangements had been made on New Year's 
to make her several presents. Busy fingers 
at the North were fashioning a little crimson 
dress and some aprons for the occasion. But 
one day the little pet was missing. The boys 
were told that she was ailing ; a week passed, 
and there came word that she was very sick 
with diphtheria. She died that night in Mrs. 
Pomroy's arms. 

Every face was sad the next morning 
throughout the hospital. They laid her away 
that day, in a tiny casket which the nurses 
had bought, robed her in the crimson dress, 
v/ith flowers from the White House. The 
steward willingly vacated his room that she 
might rest there, while the inmates of the 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 187 

hospital came in to look upon her for the 
last time. It was a touching sight to see the 
sick and disabled, one by one, young and 
old, all who could hobble in on canes and 
crutches, come and shed tears over the lovely 
waxen figure and kiss her as though she be- 
longed to them. Even the surgeons, who had 
learned to look on suffering unmoved, shed 
tears over the coffin, as they recognized in 
her one of God's angels too good for earth. 

The sick father obtained a week's furlough, 
and Mrs. Pomroy accompanied the sorrowing 
parents with the body of little Caty on their 
way home as far as the Baltimore depot. 
The father came back, but to die. A few 
months, and he, too, was carried home and 
a new grave was made beside the little one. 

Mrs. Pomroy writes during the winter months : 
** This has been a trying season to us all, for 
we have nothing but convalescents, and they 
are far more trouble than when confined to 
the bed by sickness or wounds. They are 
very uneasy, going to the sutlers and buying 
those things that bring on sickness. Many of 
them get passes to go to Washington, which 



188 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

is the worst place I know for young men : 
there they get intoxicated, and, if they over- 
run their pass, they are put in the guard- 
house till next morning. 

" Since General Grant has taken command, 
the men seem to feel encouraged. He has 
ordered many of the officers who were to be 
seen round the public houses, to their regi- 
ments, and is calling in all the ambulances 
that can be seen through the streets of 
Washington, for government use. After this, 
we shall not see quite so many officers with 
their friends, riding through our city, when 
they should be in the field ; for, visit the 
capital when you would, it seemed thronged 
with those who were able to be where General 
Grant has now put them. 

" So far we say, ' Good for Grant ! ' We 
hope he is the ' Coming man ' come ; but 
God only knows. The 'Battle Cry' is sound- 
ing in our ears ; it is the first sound that 
greets us in the morning, and the last at 
night, for as we look out from oar windows 
and see workmen putting up a large number 
of tents, we ask, What can all this mean ? 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 189 

The answer is, An order has come to Columbia 
College Hospital to enlarge her borders, and 
make ready to accommodate one tJioiisand wounded 
patients : and as we look over to Carver Hos- 
pital, the work of putting up more tents is 
going on, so as to accommodate foiii^teen hundred 
more wounded men ; and then on our right, 
they are making the same preparation. Can 
we help at times feeling sad, as we see all 
this going on ? Can we help feeling strong 
sympathy for the loved ones at home, who 
have friends in this dreadful war? 

** Friends at the North, pray for us ; for when 
the next battle comes it will be a hard one ; 
and we have our work to do. God grant that 
we may have strength equal to our day; that 
we may never flinch from duty, but prove our- 
selves true women — true to ourselves, our 
country, and our God. 

*' We have had several deaths within a few 
weeks from typhoid, and a few from small-pox. 
Two of the typhoid patients had their mothers 
come to see them ; and although this was 
forbidden, we could not turn them away from 
the bedsides of their sick sons. One of them 



190 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

was from my own native State, and a few 
hours before he died, as he was delirious, the 
mother in the greatest agony said, * If my 
poor Charlie could only know that I was here, 
and would say something that I could tell my 
family, it would be such a comfort.' 

"The surgeons had done all in their power, 
and we all felt that vain was the help of 
man. But in the evening Charlie became con- 
scious, and told his mother he had prepared, 
while on the field, to meet death, and all was 
well with him. He was taken home, where 
father, mother, sisters and brother could see 
his lifeless form. 

"And the other mother — this was indeed sad, 
for he was her only son, and she was a widow. 

"What should she do if Robert should die.? 
She was too feeble to work, and old age was 
fast creeping upon her. Kind neighbors had 
paid her expenses, and fitted her out comfort- 
ably, with the hope that she would be able 
to bring him home; for Robert was a good 
young man, and much respected. 

" When we asked her in the morning respect- 
ing her son, she replied, ' Oh ! he looks 



I AM WITH YOU ALAVAY. 191 

much brighter, and I think he can go home 
in a few days ; ' but, as we entered the room, 
those bright eyes bore the signal of death, and 
the sweet face had a heavenly expression ; as 
the poor mother held the thin hand in hers, 
later on, he told her he was going home, where 
the others were, and it may not be long before 
she, too, will meet them. He died ! and as 
they took his body to the dead-house, her 
agony seemed too great to bear; but, in the 
midst of all, the State agent came, and told 
her that she and her dear boy could be sent 
to Pennsylvania, and when she arrived at her 
own home, friends would go with her to his 
last resting place. Smiles mingled with tears, 
as she replied, 'Though He slay me, yet will 
I trust in Him; God is good, God is good.' — 

"This hospital is becoming a hard place. My 
lieart yearns for good, pure society, and I 
long to go home to my friends and kindred. 
I hope I shall not be needed long, and that 
the day is not far distant when we shall all 
' come marching home,' feeling that God has 
given us the victory. 

"What a day that will be to me after wit- 



192 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

nessing all I have here, and hearing from my 
brave soldiers the story of their privations 
and sufferings. I have three Tennessee boys, 
quite young, and to hear how they left their 
friends in the night, and had to travel always 
after dark, through woods, fording rivers, 
through cold and hunger ; how they left broth- 
ers and friends dead on the road, for want of 
food and clothing, gives one the heartache. 
How little do friends at the North know what 
our soldiers are passing through ! " 

If the mothers who had sons at this time 
under Mrs. Pomroy's care could have seen 
her watchful solicitude for their welfare, we 
doubt not it would have saved many a heart- 
ache. Mother-like, the weak ones were her 
especial care. When they went to Washington 
for a holiday, they parted from her with 
anxious injunctions not to get led astray, and 
to come home on time. Seldom were her 
directions disobeyed, and but once did she 
have to send a boy to the guard-house for 
misconduct. 

The case in hand was that of a Pennsyl- 
vania youth, who was brought in with a wound 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 193 

in the shoulder, where a ball had passed 
through. It was a very bad wound, and after 
having been confined to his room for several 
months, he wanted to go to Washington. His 
nurse gave him enough money to get a good 
beefsteak and a cup of coffee, and, knowing 
his weakness, begged him not to go near any 
drinking saloons, and not to smoke, and to be 
in on time, which was five o'clock. 

He promised in good faith, and joined two 
or three steady companions, who were going 
the same way. Five o'clock came, but not 
the boy. His mates had come home, but had 
lost track of him. 

Two hours later he came in, the worse for 
liquor, and very disorderly, but very penitent. 
He had fallen several times, his shoulder-blade 
had been shattered, and he was in great pain. 
His nurse was much distressed, but saw it 
was no time to talk to him. 

"Go directly to bed," she said, *'and I will 
shield you this once, but not again. When 
the surgeon comes round, shut your eyes and 
be asleep, else he will discover your condition 
and send you to the guard-house.'* 



194 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

When the surgeon came round, the boy was 
snoring soundly, and the medicine was left 
for the nurse to administer. Then she washed 
and dressed his wounds, and bade him sleep 
for the night. 

The next day he was himself ; ashamed 
and penitent for his folly, and ready to 
receive with all humility the words his nurse 
had in store for him. 

*' Remember," she said, after much kind and 
faithful advice, *' this is your first offence and 
I forgive it, but the next time you will go to 
the guard-house." 

He had opportunity while lying on his bed 
of pain, to think of his widowed mother, 
whom he loved dearly, and to vow never to 
take the fatal glass again. As he got better 
and was able to be round, he helped in 
many ways about the hospital, and was a 
most excellent boy. 

After three months had passed he begged 
his nurse to try him once more, and let him 
go to Washington. She at last consented ; fur- 
nished him with enough of his money to get 
a good dinner, and he promised to be home 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 195 

all right. He did not come at five, and the 
nurse began to feel uneasy. She waited until 
six, when she heard him coming up the stairs, 
swearing at the boys and hardly able to stand 
from the effects of liquor. 

He commenced to cry on seeing her, and 
begged her not to have him put in the 
guard-house. His arm was soaked in blood, 
where he had fallen and injured it, and he 
was in great distress. She told him it was 
impossible for her to shield him again, and 
bade him sit on the side of his bed until she 
could send for an officer. The poor fellow 
came and stood before her, begging for pity, 
but it was of no avail, and he was hurried 
away. 

Twelve o'clock came, and the officer of the 
day on his rounds found Mrs. Pomroy up. 

"Why, what are you sitting up for.?" he 
said. 

"I cannot sleep," she replied, **for thinking 
of my poor boy in the guard-house. Do let 
him come up, doctor! He is a poor, weak 
boy, and his wound needs dressing." 

"Mrs. Pomroy," he said, "what makes you 



195 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

love these boys so ? I haven't any right to 
let him out, but it is the first time you've 
ever had to send one, and for your sake I'll 
do it; but if it reaches the surgeon's ears, I 
shall have to answer for it. " 

The culprit was brought in soon after, in 
a shivering condition, his wound dressed, then 
he was made warm with ginger and put to 
bed to sleep off his drunken stupor. 

He stayed with Mrs. Pomroy many months 
after this. He got strong and went to Wash- 
ington several times, but never again came home 
intoxicated. Nor when he went to Meridian 
Hill to join the Invalid Corps, did she ever 
have cause to sorrow over her Philadelphia 
boy. 

It is not to be supposed that medicine was 
relied on to effect a cure where homesickness 
and depression was at the foundation of 
illness, as in many cases. The surgeons and 
nurses did their best to raise the spirits of 
the men, believing as a rule, that those who 
laughed most were surest of recovery. 

One day the surgeon on the ward proposed 
to the nurses that the boys have a dance 



I AM WITH YOU ALWAY. 197 

before going to bed. They all agreed to it, 
and a man was found who had a fiddle and 
could call off the dances. When the surgeon 
in charge was called on for his opinion, he 
said he not only gave his consent, but his 
hearty approval, as he thought the patients 
would be benefitted by it. 

The dance commenced, and lasted from seven 
until nine. The surgeon on the ward stood 
in the door and smiled his approbation. 

Now there were some of the inmates who 
got wonderfully limbered as the fun and the 
dancing proceeded, and among the number, 
some who had before been apparently too weak 
to 'walk from their bed to the window. The 
surgeon made a note of such, when he saw 
them stepping so briskly to the measure of 
the music, and danced them off to their reg- 
iments next day without further ado. 

To suffer well is well to serve; 

Safe in our Lord 

Divinest compensations come ; 

Through thorns of judgment mercies bloom 

In sweet relief. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 



IN April, of the year 1864, the cry of our 
starved men in Southern prisons reached 
the ears of the President, and touched his 
sympathetic heart. Negotiations were entered 
into with the South for an exchange of pris- 
oners, in consequence of which hundreds of 
starving men from Libby Prison, Anderson- 
ville. Belle Isle, and other places, were brought 
in as fast as the exchange could be made. 

At Baltimore a hospital was improvised from 
a large old building on the wharf, built for 
the storage of grain, and given the name of 
West Hospital. 

When these skeleton prisoners commenced 
to arrive, Miss Dix had orders from Secretary 
Stanton to secure Mrs. Pomroy's services for 
West Hospital, and she came to Columbia 

198 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 199 

College with tears streaming down her cheeks, 
to take Mrs. Pomroy and Mrs. R. to Balti- 
more. They were on their way in ten min- 
utes, and at twelve o'clock reached their des- 
tination. 

The oath of allegiance was administered 
outside, and again inside the outer door, with 
strict injunctions not to speak or even look 
at the rebel officers, through whose quarters 
they had to pass on their way to the Union 
men, who were on the second flight. Here 
again, the oath of allegiance was taken before 
entering. The sight that met their eyes as 
they passed in, beggars all description, but the 
details of the heart-rending condition of these 
poor sufferers have been so often depicted, that 
it needs no lengthy delineation at our hands. 

Wild, staring eyes that met their gaze told 
the story of insanity. Their faces wore the 
hue of leather; their hair was filled with ver- 
min, and their half-clad bodies covered with 
filth. 

Weaker than new-born infants, many died 
while being taken from their stretchers. Still 
the stream of living death was poured in ; 



200 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

some through the door, others through win- 
dows, where elevators took them from the 
water side. 

Every attention that medical skill could 
devise, every effort that faithful nurses could 
put forth, every luxury that the women of 
Baltimore could procure, was provided to fan 
the flame of life into a brighter glow; but all 
in vain for many. The oil was nearly burned; 
it flickered for a few brief moments, and then 
went out. Among the screams and groans 
which constantly assailed the ear, was heard 
the cry for mother, wife or sister ; and dying 
blessings and the curses of the insane were 
mingled in one. 

Mrs. Pomroy passed through these painful 
scenes, keeping up a brave heart and a steady 
hand until twelve o'clock at night. She had 
had nothing to eat since seven in the miorn- 
ing, nor could anything be obtained in the 
hospital. She felt her strength giving way, 
and knew that she must sink from exhaust- 
ion unless she could find a place of rest. She 
asked a soldier if he would tell her where she 
could find a bed. He said, "There are no 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 201 

preparations for sleeping here, but there is an 
empty bed in the attic, which has been va- 
cated by a patient, and I will show you the 
way to it." 

He took a half-burned tallow candle and showed 
her up the first landing. The steps were pieces 
of plank, one above the other, with no rail- 
ing, and as she followed, with unsteady steps, 
by the dim light of the candle, she stumbled 
over something and almost fell. 

"Oh, what is that.?" she asked in agitation. 

The man coolly informed her that was the 
dead body of a man just gone with spotted 
fever. "They are taking him out to bury," he 
said ; " but don't be alarmed." 

With increasing agitation, she passed up a 
second flight, where he led her into a large 
room, petitioned off into stalls, built for stow- 
ing grain, and there showed her the semblance 
of a bed, covered with a dirty quilt, and 
destitute of a pillow. 

"This is the best I can do for you," he 
said, " but don't undress, for we have wharf- 
rats here, and they will eat up or carry off 
everything left about the room." 



202 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

" Is there no way I can fasten the door ? " 
she said, with nervous dread, looking around 
the barren apartment. 

"No," he replied; "nothing will hurt you 
here ; leave your candle burning till it goes 
out." 

With that, he left her, and she recrossed the 
room and attempted to close the heavy door 
on its rusty hinges. The sudden sound woke 
a dreary echo in the room, when a wild voice 
cried out from the nearest stall, "Who's there .^ " 
Mrs. Pomroy answered with what feeble 
strength she had left, and asked in' return, 
who the person was, and why they were there. 

"Oh," said a woman's feeble voice, "what 
made you come here.-* Don't come near me. 
I am dying of small-pox." 

Mrs. Pomroy waited to hear no more. Sink- 
ing by the side of her bed, she besought her 
Heavenly Father for strength and succor. 
Agonizing thoughts came thick and fast as 
she struggled in prayer. "What if I should 
be taken with the fever and die in this vile 
spot unknown, with no one to take me to 
Woodlawn and lay me beside my husband and 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 203 

children?" and then, "What would my dear 
friends at the North say, if they knew where 
I was to-night?" 

In her distress, she prayed as never before, 
that if it was God's will, she might be kept 
from all harm, and live to be restored to home 
and friends, and when she arose and lay 
down upon her hard pallet, it was with a calm 
assurance that God knew *all "her distress of 
mind, that all things were in his hands, and 
that if he chose, he could bring her out of 
that foul room untainted by disease. There- 
after her mind was at rest. Exhausted nature 
kindly closed the weary eyelids, and she slept 
unmolested until the early dawn penetrated 
through the cobwebs on the windows and out- 
lined the hugh rafters overhead. 

When she arose she learned that the small- 
pox patient was still living, and that she was 
waited on by a colored man, who had had 
the disease, and who brought up her meals 
and medicine. 

Leaving the room as soon as possible, she 
passed out of doors to the pump, near at 
hand, where she bathed face and hands and 



204 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

was greatly refreshed. The fears of the pre- 
vious night were all dispelled, and inquiring 
for the nearest restaurant, she went in, bought 
herself a breakfast of steak and coffee, and 
was in condition to take upon herself the duties 
of nurse again. 

For three weeks she occupied the same hard 
bed in the grain stall, the small-pox patient 
having been removed to another hospital, where 
she died the next day. Here she devoted her- 
self in untiring service to the poor sufferers, 
save at intervals where change was a neces- 
sity. Now it was to administer a little weak 
gruel or a stimulant ; again to quiet the ravings 
of the insane or idiotic ; again to dress and 
bind up the frozen stumps of feet where gan- 
grene had settled ; and then to hear and transmit 
the last message to far-away friends and close 
the sightless eyes. One case especially worthy 
of notice, was that of a poor boy, little over 
twenty years of age, who had enlisted from 
Baltimore months before. 

His father was one of the few Union men of 
that city, and when the Massachusetts troops 
marched through on that eventful nineteenth 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 206 

day of April, 1861, he had the courage to 
raise the Union flag. So much did this act 
incense the Secessionists, even his near friends, 
that they threatened to fire his beautiful resi- 
dence if it was ever repeated. 

Previous to this his family included four fine 
boys. Three of them died, and the stricken parents, 
irreconciled to their loss, rebelled against the 
afflictive hand of God. Time passed, and the 
remaining son, fired with his father's patriotism, 
joined the Union ranks, and with others, was 
afterwards taken prisoner. The parents learned 
where he was quartered, and sent sums of 
money and everything that heart could desire 
for his comfort while in prison. But nothing 
reached him. It went to feed the coffers and 
fill the mouths of the rebel guard. When the 
exchange of prisoners was made, he was brought 
to West Hospital, within two miles of his home. 
He was one of Mrs. Pomroy's patients, and on 
learning the facts of the case, she at once sent 
word to his parents that their son was in the 
hospital. 

One day an elegant carriage drove up, occu- 
pied by a feeble old gentleman, who sent up 



206 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

his footman to inquire for Mrs. Pomroy. She 
went down to the carriage, and the father of 
her poor boy introduced himself. 

Tears coursed down his cheeks as he asked, 
in faltering accents, for his son. " Can I see 
him ? " he said. 

"You can," said Mrs. Pomroy, **but you 
will find him greatly changed ; you will not 
know him, and I must ask one favor, for your 
poor child's sake ; do not let him see your 
distress by a single sign ; it might cost him 
his life." 

The old man promised. He was helped out 
of the carriage, and ascended to his son's 
room, leaning on the nurse's arm. 

They went slowly on, passing one bed after 
another till they reached the one where lay 
a poor wreck of humanity, whose features bore 
no semblance to the once beautiful boy. "This 
is he," she said. The father started, gave a 
long look, then, with a wild cry, fell to the 
floor in a fit. He was taken to an empty cot, 
restoratives applied, and when partially recov- 
ered, his servants carried him to his carriage 
and took him home. 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 207 

After this the mother desired to come. Mrs. 
Pomroy said, "Wait for a few days, till he 
gets stronger." Then the mother got permis- 
sion to come and look upon her darling son. 
Tears fell like rain as she said, "In a land 
of plenty, with a rich father, and my only son 
dying of starvation ! " And, " O, my Father, 
help me to bear this trial, for I never thought 
my poor boy would die for want of food." 

He looked up, and said, "Be thankful, 
mother, that I die where the rebels will not 
throw my body where the dogs and rats may 
eat it." 

But he did not die. Slowly the strength 
came back into those feeble limbs, and Mrs. 
Pomroy learned, weeks afterward, that he was 
restored to his parents, and that they lived to 
be reconciled to the loss of their other sons, 
and acknowledge God's mercy in saving them 
from sharing the same dreadful fate. 

In the far corner of the sick room lay a 
poor little colored boy. He was dying of 
dropsy, and his swollen figure contrasted 
strangely with that of the skeleton forms 
around him. 



208 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

"I'se most got home," he said, as Mrs. 
Pomroy came to feed him with a little weak 
broth. " I'se going home to see Jesus." 

"Where are you from," she said, "and 
where did you hear about Jesus ? " 

"My home is in Car'lina, an' my mudder 
got 'ligion at de camp ground. We got sep- 
arated, somehow, when de niggers set free, 
and she tell me, last ting, *lub Jesus.'" 

A sweet expression of love in death lit up 
his dark features and made them radiant. 
When next his nurse came round to give him 
another strengthening draught, and speak a 
word of comfort, he had reached home and 
Jesus. 

Another choice young man from Philadelphia 
was slowly dying. He had much to live for. 
He had a beautiful home, and when he left, 
it was with the promise to marry a lovely 
young lady when the war was over. His dis- 
tress was hard to witness. Mrs. Pomroy urged 
him to cast his troubles on the Lord. She 
told him the oft-repeated story of the thief 
on the cross, and urged him to pray. 

"I can't pray," he said. 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. • 209 

"Can't you say, Lord, remember me?" 

And the poor fellow clasped his hands and 
repeated over and over, "Lord, remember me! 
Lord, remember me ! " till death sealed his 
petition. 

These are but a few cases out of the forty 
under her charge. Many a sad story might 
be written from the history of those woes, 
breathed only in her ear, but we will not 
harrow the feelings of our readers by any 
further recitals. Many got able to go home, 
and there, under its quiet influence, and the 
comforting ministry of friends, regained their 
health, and have become good and useful citi- 
zens, prizing the blessings of a stable govern- 
ment as never before. Others went home to 
join the vast army of patriots and martyrs of 
all ages, where "they shall hunger no more, 
neither thirst any more, and God shall wipe 
away all tears from their eyes." 

In the room below where the Union men 
were cared for, were forty rebel officers, chained, 
waiting to be exchanged. They were sur- 
rounded by a double guard of officers, as one 
of the colonels had previously made his escape, 



210 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

though afterwards captured, on being wounded. 
Mrs. Pomroy passed through this room every 
time she went down stairs. 

One day she looked up and met the gaze 
of one of these men, whom she thought she 
recognized. She asked the officer in charge 
if she might speak to him. 

"Yes," he replied; ''five minutes." 

He accompanied her into the presence of the 
officer, and she said : 

"Are you Mr. M., formerly of Chelsea.?" 

" Yes," he answered. " How, in God's name, 
came you down here.-*" 

She replied, " I came to look after our poor 
wounded men. How came you here, and in 
such company.? " 

He told her he was fighting for his coun- 
try; that he had espoused a just cause, and 
one that would triumph. 

"Never!" said Mrs. Pomroy. "Never!" 

"Why, just look at it!" he said. "Your 
men at the North are fast getting killed off, 
and there are none left who will fight." 

"That is false," said Mrs. Pomroy, "and if it 
were true, I could go home and get hundreds 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 211 

of loyal women to take their places, rather than 
have our country given over to the mercy of 
the South." 

This and much more he was forced to hear 
from her lips, while fierce hatred flashed from 
every feature, and he seemed almost unable to 
keep back his hand from striking her. 

*' Five minutes up," said the officer, and she 
left him to his own reflections, with a feeling, 
doubtless, of inward satisfaction that she had 
given the rebel officer a shot from the one 
weapon which women know how to wield. 

While engaged at the hospital, Miss Dix 
called one day to take her away for rest and 
change. She had procured a pass for Fortress 
Monroe, and at five o'clock they were sailing 
down the Chesapeake, in the steamer Georgi- 
anna^ bound for the Fortress, a distance of one 
hundred and eighty miles, and arrived there 
safely at eight in the morning. Their first 
stop was at the house of General Butler, who 
ordered his carriage to take them to the hos- 
pitals, a distance of four miles. Miss Dix was 
then to report their condition to him. 

While passing from one hospital to another 



212 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

they saw thousands of soldiers land. The great 
Army of the Potomac, swelled to one hundred 
and twenty thousand men, under Grant, was 
now about to move. 

They visited a colored hospital, which was 
a novel sight. There lay our black soldiers, 
some wounded, others with fevers, and so on. 
One near the door attracted their attention. 
He was wounded, and three months before was 
wrecked, but clung to the mast five hours. 
When assistance came he joined his regiment, 
where, in a skirmish, a ball was fired at him, 
passing through his leg. He was happy ; 
longed to get well and fight the Johnnys 
once more. 

On the grounds near the hospital was a 
chapel which Boston had the name of putting 
there. 

Mrs. Pomroy returned to duty among the 
sick and dying next day, and remained there 
till a despatch called her to Columbia College. 
"From there she writes. May 24th : 

" The recent battles have sent thousands of 
wounded men within the limits of our neigh- 
borhood. For the last ten days hundreds of 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 213 

ambulances and government teams have passed 
by our dwelling, and Carver Barracks, back 
of us, is crowded ; so also Mount Pleasant and 
Stone Hospital, on our right. The first two 
or three days hundreds came to us who were 
slightly wounded They had a good bath, 
clothes changed, their wounds nicely dressed, 
and were then sent to Northern hospitals. 

"We were all day, for a number of days, 
dressing wounds, and trying to make the poor 

boys comfortable We have now in our 

hospital over one thousand, many of whom are 
badly wounded. We have lost many by death, 
and the muffled drum, with its solemn notes, 
we hear several times a day. 

*'l never saw such patience among any set 
of men as I have among those who have 
been recently wounded. Not a murmur, nor 
scarcely a groan, is heard. The silent tear 
forces itself when I read to them, or show 
them my family photographs, and they seem 
very grateful for all that is done for them. 

"On my right are two brave men who are 
shot through the face, the ball passing through 
the jaw, knocking out the teeth and cutting 



214 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

a piece off from the tongue. I can only under- 
stand them by gestures, as their mouths are 
badly cut. One of them carries round his 
teeth, and a part of his jaw-bone, in his 
pocket, as trophies. . 

*' On the next four beds are those badly 
wounded through the right hand, and the 
next, a boy with his heel shot through, so 
that the nails of his boot pushed into the foot. 
It may have to be amputated. We have work 
enough before us this summer, and hope we 
have health to do all we can in times like 
these." 

Strange as it may seem, Mrs Pomroy never 
had a soldier under her care who ever expressed 
a regret that he had enlisted. Large numbers 
of them were impatient to get well and join 
their regiments; but when homesickness seized 
upon the poor fellows, as it frequently did, it 
was impossible to rally their spirits or bring 
a smile into their wan faces. 

One of her young patients had been sick 
several months, with no prospect of ever getting 
well, and he longed for home and mother. 
He begged his nurse to ask the surgeon if 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 215 

he could not have a furlough ; he should get 
well if he could only see his mother. His 
request was refused by the surgeon ; but he 
begged day by day, and two or three times a 
day, till at last Mrs. Pomroy herself impor- 
tuned the doctor, telling him it was homesick- 
ness more than anything else, and that he 
might recover if sent home. The doctor finally 
consented, and the papers were made out. 
After waiting and expecting their arrival every 
day for weeks, and hope deferred had made 
the heart sick, the documents were put in his 
trembling fingers. But he could not read them, 
and gave them up to Mrs. Pomroy, saying, 
"You read them," which she did. 

"Now you can go home," she said joyfully. 
"I will get you ready to-night." 

A strange look came into his face; his eyes 
took on a dazed expression, where his nurse 
had looked for a glow of joy, and a moment 
after, he was raving in an insane frenzy, from 
which he never recovered. They took him to 
an insane asylum the next day, where he died, 
shortly after, a maniac. 

June 1 2th, she writes in her journal. "Sun- 



216 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

day : All is confusion and excitement ; a large 
increase of wounded; many of them badly. 
June 13. Hands and heart full. Many of the 
wounded must die. June 14. Feeling worn 
out, and sick in bed. Doctors administered 
chloroform." 

A few days afterwards she speaks of the 
loss of their matron, who had been with 
them two and a half years, and for whom 
the nurses had great regard. They presented 
her before leaving with a beautiful silver ser- 
vice as a testimonial of their affection. Having 
partially recovered in health, Miss Dix and 
the surgeon in charge invited Mrs. Pomroy to 
take the place of the former matron, urging 
her long acquaintance with hospital life and 
her fitness for the work ; but she declined 
persistently, saying that her work was among 
the boys. 

In July she writes : " On the Fourth, I went 
with one of the nurses to Georgetown, and 
from there crossed the canal and put my feet 
on the sacred soil of Virginia. 

'*The first thing that attracted my attention 
was a log house where our Union troops were 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 217 

Stationed, and there hung Jeff Davis, large as 
life, in effigy. From there we went inside of 
Fort Corcoran, where the soldiers were de- 
lighted to see us, my companion being a New 
York lady. On learning that I was from Mas- 
sachusetts, they concluded that I must be an 
Abolitionist." 

One poor fellow from New York at this 
time took strong hold of her sympathy. He 
was brought from the field badly wounded, and 
was obliged to have his leg amputated. He 
was very sensitive about his loss, and would 
not let his nurse mention it in her letters. 
Often he would say, while tossing on his bed 
of pain, " If I could only see Sarah ! " 

Sarah was his wife — the mother of his little 
family of children — with whom he had sung 
many years in the choir of a small Methodist 
church in New York. His nurse saw that he 
was failing fast, and that he never would be 
able to go home to her, and, unbeknown to 
the surgeon, sent word that her husband wished 
to see her. On the next Saturday night she 
arrived, weary and faint, and Mrs. Pomroy gave 
the woman her own bed and supper. 



218 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

On the following morning, after the doctor 
had made his usual call, and the husband was 
neatly dressed for the day, she told Mrs. M. 
that she, could go in and see her husband, 
but charged her to let no outburst of feeling 
overpower her in his Npresence. She entered 
the room, and was led io the bedside of her 
husband, where thi^absence of his leg was 
plainly visible from under the thin sheet. Her 
agitation could not be concealed at first, but 
she grew calmer and sat down beside him, 
while Mrs. Pomroy took her seat upon the 
other side. They talked of the children for 
a while, and then he said, " Sarah, will you 
strike up one of the tunes we used to sing 
at home ? " 

With faltering accents, she began "Welcome, 
sweet day of rest," while the sufferer joined 
in, and the familiar strains were caught up 
here and there throughout the ward-room. 

The poor woman ate her dinner in Mrs. 
Pomroy's room, with tears streaming down her 
face. 

" Don't you think he will get well J ** she 
asked. 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 219 

Mrs. Pomroy informed her as gently as pos- 
sible, that she must prepare to lose him, 
advised her to tell her husband and talk it 
all over with him. She went in and sat down 
beside him, and when she could quiet her 
emotion, she told him that she was afraid he 
could never recover. ^ 

He turned to his nuBse and said, "What 
do you think, mother?" 

Already her practised eye detected the seal 
of death on his brow. She could only con- 
firm the intelligence his wife had imparted, 
and tell him he had but a little while longer 
to stay. He received the information calmly, 
told them he was willing and ready to go, 
and they talked of the future both for him 
and for her. Then he asked her to sing once 
more. Their voices blended in one as they 
joined in the dear old hymns they had so 
often sung together, till his, growing fainter 
and fainter, ceased altogether. 

She was well nigh inconsolable when she 
became conscious that he had left her and he 
was carried out to be prepared for the simple 
pine coffin that awaited him. 



220 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

Too poor to pay the expenses of his transfer 
home, Mrs. Pomroy procured her assistance 
through kind friends who visited the hospital, 
and she left in possession of his body, which 
was buried from the little Methodist church 
where he was known and loved so well. 

Mrs. Pomroy at this time won the undying 
gratitude of another young man, by saving 
him from immediate death through neglect of 
medical treatment. He was brought in with a 
dreadful wound through the mouth. The ball 
had passed in on one side of the face, crushed 
the jaws, and taken off the end of his tongue, 
coming out the other side. 

The surgeon looked at him and said, *'No 
use to do anything for him, he can't live,'* 
and passed on. 

Mrs. Pomroy stooped down and examined 
the poor fellow's wounds, and called her at- 
tendant, saying, "We can but try," 

She took her instruments and picked out 
some teeth and pieces of bone, dressed his 
wounds as well as she could, for he was in 
great distress, and fed him like an infant. He 
could not speak so as to be understood, but 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 221 

on searching his pockets, they found the name 
Paul Kane, Boston. This, they learned, was the 
name of his brother, who was connected with 
the Revere House of that city. 

She immediately wrote on to him, stating 
particulars, and saying that if he would forward 
some money she would see that it was ex- 
pended in helping to restore his brother. The 
money was sent, together with many anxious 
inquiries for the son and brother. For days 
she fed him like a sick infant, plugged his 
wounds and dressed them, till he was finally 
able to sit up and be dressed, and then to 
walk about. Shortly after this he wanted a 
furlough. His nurse procured it for him and 
got him ready. 

The surgeon who saw him after his first 
night's treatment, was surprised to find him 
so comfortable, but said it was of no use to 
spend any more time on him, and had taken 
no care whatever of him during these weeks 
of convalescence. 

On the morning of his intended departure, 
however, he came in, and said, " Come, Kane, 
sit down and let me see your teeth." 



222 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

"No, you don't," said the poor fellow; "you 
left me to die, and if it had not been for my 
good mother I should have been carried off 
where so many other boys are lying. Now 
you shall not look at my teeth. When I get 
to Boston I will get a dentist that knows 
something about the business, and I'll report 
you." 

He started on his furlough, and not many 
days after Mrs. Pomroy took hers. 

While in Boston, one day, she stepped into 
the Revere House, with a friend, and called for 
the porter. Paul Kane. A fine-looking fellow, 
of Irish descent, entered the room and received 
them politely. 

"Have you a brother.?" Mrs. Pomroy said. 

"Oh, yes! He's a soldier just home from 
the hospital. He nearly lost his life, but a 
kind woman, a Massachusetts lady, was a 
mother to him, and saved him. Here are her 
letters, that I always carry about with me 
(taking them from his coat pocket). How I 
wish I could see that lady." 

"You have the pleasure of seeing her, then," 
said Mrs. Pomroy, "for I am she." 



FAITHFUL UNTO DEATH. 223 

The man started in astonishment. 

*' Can it be possible ? " he exclaimed, seizing 
her hand. "Now I can thank you for all 
your kindness to my dear brother ; " and the 
tears coursed down his manly cheeks. 

Mrs. Pomroy then learned of her boy's safe 
arrival home, and some time after called at his 
home in Cambridgeport. But the struggle for 
life had been too much for him, and he was 
gone. 

He did not live many weeks after his arrival 
home ; but she had the satisfaction of knowing 
that he died among friends who kindly minis- 
tered to his every want and gave him a burial 
among his own kin. 

Not painlessly doth God re-cast 

And mould anew the nation: 

Hot burns the fire 

Where wrongs expire, 

Nor spares the hand 

That from the land 

Uproots the ancient evil. 



CHAPTER IX. 

SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 

ON this, her third furlough, Mrs. Pomroy was 
eagerly sought for by her friends, who 
vied with each other in providing every com- 
fort for the recuperation of the frail, worn 
system that she was to get in readiness for 
another campaign. She inhaled the fresh moun- 
tain air of New Hampshire, among family 
friends, for a while,, and, as before, spoke in 
public and private circles. 

We cannot forbear, here, to give a brief 
sketch taken from the Chelsea Telegraph afid 
Pioneer^ of one memorable evening : 

Mrs. Pomroy. — On Wednesday evening the City Hall was 
crowded to repletion, so great was the desire of our citizens 
to listen to Mrs. Pomroy's recital of her experience as hospital 
nurse in Washington during three years of the casualties of war, 
and the sufferings of our sick and wounded soldiers incident 
thereon. 

224 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 225 

Mayor Fitz presided, and introduced Mrs. Pomroy, who com- 
menced by saying that she did not come before them as one of 
the strong-minded women, so called. She felt that she was among 
friends; friends to her, and to the soldiers of whom she pur- 
posed to speak, and among whom the experiences she had to relate 
occurred. 

She then pursued for full an hour and a half a recital of hospi- 
tal incidents connected with the wounded and sick soldiers; the 
sufferings, fortitude and love of country ; their gratitude, their 
sorrows, hopes and fears ; their fluctuations of mind and spirit 
while hovering between life and death, all delivered and delineated 
with such simplicity and modest grace, such patho.s and devotion, 
as to make the narration one of the most interesting and instruc- 
tive that can well be conceived of. 

Tears rolled down many cheeks. The men wept as well as the 
women. The influence was profound. It was worth a score of 
sermons. It illustrated practically the great lesson of Chris- 
tian duty. Mrs. Pomroy has been instrumental in saving many 
lives given over by the surgeons. By patient watching and care, 
by night and day, by the Great Physician, whose help she sought 
in prayer, she has had the satisfaction of seeing her sacrificing 
cares rewarded by perfect restoration of the patients. " Yes," 
said she, while relating one of these cases, " I saved his life. Yet 
not I, but God, for he told me what to do." 

Indeed, all through her hour and a half discourse, she seemed 
like one not of the earth wholly. Her eyes but once or twice at 
most, met those of her audience ; the lids were drooped ; the tips 
of her fingers of one hand rested on, or moved with slow, uncon- 
scious motion, like one in thought, over the table at which she 
stood. Her voice was clear, modulated, low, utterance distinct 
and uninterrupted throughout. 

There were no unnecessary words ; no redundancy of detail. 
There was nothing boastful in all she said, all power of endurance 
being ascribed to a higher power. 

A wounded boy was urged by her to pray. He said he could 
not, and then asked, "Do you pray ? " " Yes," said she, *' I could 
not stay here if I did not pray ; prayer alone sustains me." The 



228 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

dying boy asked her to teach him. She told him the prayer 
of the thief on the cross. " Can't you say ' Remember me ? ' " He 
would try. He asked her then to pray with him, and taking the 
boy's hand in hers, she knelt and prayed with him. 

Again, when ordered by Miss Dix to go to Baltimore to minister 
to the eight hundred Union soldiers then returned from Libby 
Prison, on seeing them in such a state of emaciated wretchedness, 
her heart sinks within her, and she exclaims, " O God ! who is 
sufficient for these things ? " But prayer brings strength, and with 
sustaining grace and faith she prosecutes her work. 

Watching by a soldier's bed and reading to him, a secondary 
hemorrhage ensues. She presses her finger on the artery at the 
neck, and sends for the surgeon. There is some delay. The 
surgeon at length arrives, but the man sinks from the loss of blood 
which continues to ooze and drop from the amputated stump down 
at her feet. While pressing back the life current by her finger, 
she continued to speak words of encouragement and religious 
consolation to the dying man. Who, indeed, is sufficient for these 
things without help from Heaven ? 

Thus we see how the office of nurse is magnified by this, our ex- 
cellent townswoman, to an exaltation not always attainable by 
those set apart for the office of spiritual guides and teachers. 
Mrs. Pomroy leaves for Washington on Monday or Tuesday 
next. 



She writes to a friend on her return in Sep- 
tember : 

*' I find myself once more settled down for 
the winter, after enjoying my pleasant visit 
home. The New Hampshire air gave me 
strength, and the little white cottage peeping 
out from among the trees welcomed me and 
bade me enter, where these nerves could be 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 227 

kept quiet and grow stronger. As I rode 
through the hilly country, I thought of the 
many brave boys from here that have been 
under ray care, and almost wished I could see 
the friends of some of those who lie now in 
soldiers' graves. 

"The first person I saw when I reached 
Washington was my good friend, the Presi- 
dent ; and I enjoyed a hearty shake of the 
hand. All my boys go for Lincoln, and I 
have no doubt he will be re-elected. I would 
like to give my vote. 

"I have made one proselyte, and shall try 
to reason with some others, who hardly know 
where they stand, but who will go home on a 
furlough to vote. We are all excitement here 
over the election, and evenings the guns are 
fired for Lincoln, with fireworks and other 
demonstrations. Our city is well guarded, as 
in every little space you see a cavalry man on 
duty, and our forts have hundreds of soldiers 
to protect them. 

" What a day that shall be when peace shall 
be declared, and we all * come marching home ! ' 
I trust it is not far distant Many 



228 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

of my boys have gone home on furloughs, so 
I have quite a small family to look after. 

*' There have been changes with nurses and 
surgeons, and our old nurses look careworn 
and anxious. There are now twenty nurses, 
eleven new ones having been added. I must 
not forget to tell you that we have had sup- 
plements to our ration-money, the sum of 
six cents, as provisions are much higher since 
the war began, making now twenty-six cents 
per day for our food ; but there has been nothing 
added to our stipulated sum of forty cents for 
our labor. 

'* Last Sabbath we had a new chaplain, an 
Episcopalian, our other chaplain having been 
discharged from the service. He preached such 
a good sermon that I do believe we shall all 
like him very much, for he seems like a live 
Christian, and at our prayer-meetings the sol- 
diers take a great interest. Our last one was 
like a little heaven below." 

In October, she writes : 

" Aunt Mary, from Mrs. Lincoln, called to 
have me go out to the Soldiers' Home and 
spend a few days with the family. She says 



4 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 229 

that the President has had several threatening 
letters, his house is guarded all round the 
outside, and a private guard inside the house. 
He has for a long time had a cavalry guard 
to escort him from the Soldiers' Home to his 
office. I shall go there, but shall spend only 
a short time, as I cannot be spared longer. 
To-night I am to watch with our surgeon in 
charge, who is very sick. He is from New 
Hampshire, and a brother of Professor C, of 
the Normal School, Salem." 

While in the President's family at this 
time she had occasion to make application to 
him in behalf of an afflicted father who was 
then living in C. 

His son had been arrested and convicted for 
theft committed in a post-office, and had 
been sentenced to prison for a term of 
years. Long months had passed, and the 
young man was wasting away from the effects 
of confinement and distress of mind. The 
father sought Mrs. Pomroy out, as many 
another one had done, knowing her influence 
with the President, and besought her to make 
an appeal for him to Mr. Lincoln. 



230 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

There were extenuating circumstances, he 
urged. His son was young, was led into the 
crime by a wicked companion, and it was his 
first offence. He had always been a good and 
dutiful son under the home roof, and his 
mother had lain prostrate on a bed of sickness 
since the fatal sentence. 

Mrs. Pomroy reluctantly took the commission, 
for she had long felt unwilling to trouble the 
already overburdened executive with matters 
outside the weighty affairs of the nation. 

He heard her story with his usual patience, 
and said : 

"I will give attention to the case if you 
will bring me all the papers that have the 
evidence of the trial." 

The necessary papers were taken to him 
and examined. He then sent for Mrs. Pom- 
roy, and said : 

" I am burdened with appeals like these, and 
I cannot say yes, always. Tell me what you 
would think it right to do if it were your 
own son." 

Mrs. Pomroy felt the burden of responsi- 
bility in this critical case. In it was involved 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 231 

the sentence of life or death, apparently, for 
this poor young man, and she could not 
speak for the moment. Then she said : 

"It is right for justice to be done, as I 
should want it in case of my own son, but 
does not this call for mercy too ? He is young, 
it is his first offence ; it may save his own 
life, and restore the health of his sick 
mother.'* 

" It shall be as you desire," said the Pres- 
ident, and at once gave his signature to the 
petition. 

The overjoyed father could not find words 
to express the debt of gratitude he owed his 
benefactress, and hastened home with the wel- 
come tidings. 

The petitions and appeals to the President 
from government officials, from all sorts of per- 
sons wanting situations of trust, and from others 
in distress, were extremely burdensome, for 
their name was legion. They were ready to 
greet him on his office steps in the morning, 
and they thronged his carriage at night. 

One day a half-crazy unfortunate from C, 
Daniel Pratt, " The great American traveller," 



232 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

who had been dodging in and out of ante- 
rooms for some days without avail, made a 
sudden raid upon the President, when he, with 
Mrs. Pomroy, had just stepped into his car- 
riage. His petition was short and to the point. 
He wanted an office. " Consider," he said, 
" it was my vote that made you President." 

At another time he was besieged by a for- 
eign-looking individual for the same favor. 

" What can you do t " said the President, in 
his quizzical fashion. 

" I can speak seven different languages," 
said the man. 

" It would be a better recommendation if 
you could speak one correctly. Drive on, Wil- 
'liam" (to the driver), and he was beyond the 
reach of his persecutor. 

The most important event of the month of 
November was the re-election of Mr. Lincoln. 
Among all the exciting events of those stirring 
times, nothing caused so much agitation as this. 
The soldiers were wild with enthusiasm, and 
bonfires and illuminations were the order of 
the day in and around Washington. That this 
event " destroyed the last hope of the Rebel- 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 233 

lion was ere long made apparent ; but the 
call for two hundred thousand more troops, by 
the President, closely following, looked to the 
waiting people and soldiers as though there 
was to be a renewed outlay of life and limb. 

Still vast expeditions were being fitted out 
with stores of ammunitions. Still the great 
bakery in the basement of the Capitol poured 
out its daily supplies of steaming bread for 
thousands of soldiers, who took up the weary 
march where others had fallen by the way. 
Still the careworn nurses went their rounds, 
soothing the sick and comforting the sad with 
every scrap of encouraging news that could be 
gleaned from headquarters. 

When the short and dreary days of Novem- 
ber came on, there were cases of homesickness 
and discouragement that medicine had no cure 
for. One little Massachusetts boy came in 
very sick of typhoid. For weeks his life was 
despaired of. He had a sister and a widowed 
mother, and he was an only son. 

He was in Mrs. Pomroy's ward, and she 
took great interest in him and wrote often 
to his widowed mother. The poor woman 



234 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

pleaded with his nurse that she would do her 
best to restore him to health, but, if other- 
wise ordered, desired that he might be pre- 
pared to meet her in Heaven. Many fervent 
prayers were offered at the hospital for the 
little Massachusetts boy, for he was quite a 
favorite. In ' a few weeks he was able to sit 
up, and shortly after to move round somewhat. 
But he did not seem to gain after that. He 
lost courage at the prospect of being confined 
in the hospital through a long winter. 

One morning an order came from the sur- 
geon in charge for all who were convalescent 
to be sent to another hospital, and Mrs. 
Pomroy's blue-eyed boy was among the num- 
ber. She went about the packing of his 
books and clothing with great reluctance, and 
even told the surgeon on the ward that she 
thought him unable to take the walk, but he 
turned on her with the harsh reply, " He 
shall go now and zvork, for he has been petted 
too long here." Sadly she helped him on 
with his blue overcoat, gave him a farewell kiss 
as the drum beat, and among the convalescents 
as they marched away, she watched poor Henry. 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 235 

Not quite an hour, and a noise was heard in 
the hall; they were bringing back her boy, 
sick and faint, and he was again put in his 
bed in the corner of the ward. 

He failed rapidly now. A week before his 
death he had a letter from his little sister, 
saying she had been fattening a chicken and 
would send him a Thanksgiving box. He was 
much pleased, and asked if he could eat 
some of his Thanksgiving, and was told he 
might eat all that he was able. The night 
before he died, he asked his nurse if he 
might lean his head on her shoulder, for he 
could not rest anywhere. Then he said, "When 
I am gone, will you tell my other mother 
that I found her Saviour, that I was a good 
boy and minded all you said to me ; that I 
should like to see her once more, but all is 
right.-*" Saying this, he breathed his last. 

She cut off a lock of his hair, and sent it, 
with other little trinkets, to his sister, and 
placed beautiful flowers around his coffin before 
it was taken to the dead house. 

As the litter on which he was taken was 
being carried down-stairs, it was stopped by a 



236 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

box coming up. It was the poor boy's Thanks- 
giving. His tearful nurse divided it among 
other patients, who ate it thankfully, not know- 
ing from whence it came, while the dear boy, 
let us trust, was giving thanks that home was 
reached, and his warfare had been accom- 
plished. 

She writes in one of her letters that follows : 
"Among our number we have three wounded 
rebels, one whose under-jaw is smashed in, 
and the other two are wounded in the limbs. 
If they are sensitive, they must suffer in mind, 
as our boys will sing all the patriotic songs 
they can find, especially the Rebel Flag. 

One of these men came under Mrs. Pomroy's 
care, though she begged to have him transferred, 
for, as she writes : " I could not feel right 
towards him after having seen those starved 
boys. He said he did not blame me at all, 
and seemed to feel himself at my mercy. I 
did not do the first thing until I had asked 
the Lord how to deal with him ; how to win 
him over. ^ 

" I asked him why he joined the rebel ser- 
vice. He said he did not want to, but his 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 237 

father threatened to disinherit him if he did not ; 
that he did not wish to kill any one, and that 
he never had. He joined the ambulance corps, 
and while taking the wounded rebels off the 
field, a ball went through his leg, and he 

fell." 

After he had been in her care a few days, 
he wanted to know if he might call her 
" mother," like the other boys. 

*'No," she says; "not while you are cherish- 
ing rebellion in your heart towards our great 
and good government." 

She writes again : " My rebel is now think- 
ing of taking the oath of allegiance, and a 
good boy he is. He thinks much of me, and 
is excellent help; a good watcher, and very 
kind to my sickest ones. I tell him I am so 
sorry that I cannot call him my boy, and he 
laughs, and says I am his mother." 

And again: "My rebel was a good young 
man, and before he left me, when we shook 
hands, the tears came to his eyes, and he told 
the boys that I was better than his mother at 
home, and that he should take the oath of 
allegiance before he left the hospital. The 



238 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

Lord heard my prayer, for he felt not only 
that he had been fighting against the best 
government, but against God, and when he left 
me, he was a true penitent, waiting and willing 
to be led in the path of duty. The Lord go 
with him, and bless him, is my prayer." 

Of the November election she writes: ''My 
dear, kind friend Abraham is re-elected. I felt 
he would be, and such excitement ! Our boys 
went to one of the torch-light processions, and 
my Massachusetts flag was carried by a colored 
sergeant, with only one arm. When the war 
is over, if that flag could tell the places it had 
been in, and the speeches it had received, it 
would be quite interesting. It graces the hall 
for concerts, temperance divisions, political 
speeches, and is frequently called for on the 
ground of its being a Massachusetts flag. I 
shall be proud to take it home with me when 
the war is over. . . . 

"Our matron is not the one to fill such a 
responsible situation, and such troubles as we 
are having. I have never seen the like before 
since I came to the hospital. 

"We shall have to make a change, as our 



SHE HATil DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 209 

food is not half cooked, and the butter is 
worse than lard, so that I have eaten bread 
and molasses for the last three weeks." 

In her next letter she writes: "Major C 

and Miss Dix have decided on my taking the 
matronship, but I have declined for the third 
time. I do not want so much care, for it is 
worse than keeping a boarding-house. There 
are twenty females to provide for, then nurses 
are sent here to remain till Miss Dix can find 
them places. Besides, there is so much to 
do with the sanitary rooms, State agents, and 
last, though not least, with inquisitive women 
who come to the hospital for reporters, etc. 
I like best to be with the boys, and they will 
not hear a word to my leaving the fourth 
floor. . . . 

**We have been busy this week in white- 
washing the building, and fixing up my ward 
with evergreens and roses for Christmas. The 
men are covering letters with red, white and 
blue tissue paper for various mottoes. In the 
centre is a picture of our good President, 
ornamented with a wreath ; opposite him is 
General Grant ; then I have had some pictures 



240 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

sent me from Boston, and we look gay. Should 
like to dine with you all on Christmas, and 
have a good sing in the evening. It is very 
cold weather, and snow is on the ground. I 
hope this will be my last winter here, for I am 
getting tired of war." 

Mrs. Pomroy furnished entertainment for her 
charge on Christmas of this year, by instituting 
the time-honored custom of filling their stock- 
ings. 

They had, the day before, been furnished 
each with a new supply of stockings from the 
North, and they were told they should find 
something in them next morning if they would 
hang them. 

Accordingly, they were found suspended from 
bed-posts, chairs, and door-knobs, not one mis- 
sing, when she and her attendant went the 
rounds that night after all had gone to sleep. 

She had received a generous supply of 
candy, sent her from Copeland's, Boston, as had 
been done frequently before. This was put in 
cornucopias, with each soldier's name pinned on, 
and put inside his stocking. 

When the boys found it the next morning 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 241 

they were as pleased as the hundreds of little 
children were who were emptying the contents 
of theirs after the same fashion. 

One old man, whose whitened locks bore 
the impress of nearly seventy years, wept like 
a child over his candy. He was a grandfather, 
with four sons in the war. 

The image of little hands busy in rifling 
stockings that he used to fill, was haunting 
his memory, and was doubtless torturing him 
with the anxious inquiry: ''Shall I ever see 
those dear, sweet faces again.?" 

It was amusing, that morning, to see how 
quickly the quid of tobacco was replaced by 
a tempting bit of candy, for those who wished 
it, had their allowance of tobacco, if money or 
friends could procure it for them. The use of 
the weed was second nature to some of these 
men. One old veteran came in with both 
arms shot off, and the attendant in charge was 
given the duty of cutting and preparing it for 
his daily use, and placing it in his mouth. 

Another felt the craving for his stimulant 
in the dying hour. " Mother," he said, turning 
to Mrs. Pomroy, ''can I have one more 



242 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

smoke ? " His pipe, that had been his solace 
through many a rough campaign, was brought, 
made ready, and put between his lips ; he gave 
two or three faint whiffs, and expired. 

She writes in the month of December, after 
acknowledging the receipt of a box from 
Chelsea : 

" I am kept busy all the time and hardly 
have a chance to think of home or friends. 
Oh, how much I do want to see this war at 
an end! My heart grows weary with the 
wrongs and sufferings, the trials that con- 
stantly rise up before me ; but I know trials 
bring strength from above, and as my Saviour 
passed through suffering, I know he will sym- 
pathize. Sometimes I feel that I burden my 
friends with my troubles ; but I will try and 
make the best of things, and as I do not 
believe in singing — 

Hark, from the tombs a doleful sound, 

And as I am so constituted that I must be 
cheerful and happy, my song shall be — 

Thus far the Lord hath led me on. 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 243 

*' About my wants. All that you send, I ap- 
preciate highly. The wax was just the thing; 
the pan, pepper-box, etc., all right, and I feel 
quite grand every time I have what I need 
added to my cJiina closet. I sometimes get 
tired of living in trunks, as I have for over 
three years, and the height of my ambition, 
when I come home to settle down, will be 
to have a room with a carpet and a bureau. 
So you see in my calm hours I am looking 
to the future and building castles. 

"While I am writing you, the college bell 
is ringing loud for fire. The long ladder is 
here at my large window, ropes are thrown 
out, and the fire company with axes and 
buckets are shouting at the tops of their voices. 
We are not alarmed, for it is simply a play 
at fire. Some four weeks since an order came 
from the war department, that buckets, ropes, 
ladders and all the men who could handle 
them, must be used three times in a week, 
to practise, as they expected the college would 
be set on fire by the rebels. Strangers are 
not allowed in the hospital unless they have 
friends. Last Sabbath there were eleven called 



2U ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

to see the Massachusetts nurse on the fourth 
floor." 

The condition of her health at this time 
was undermining her strength, and evidently- 
making her duties unusually tedious. She 
writes : 

" I am much better now than when I last 
wrote you, and I am able to take my accus- 
tomed place at the nurses' table again, and 
administer some consolation to my poor, brave 
boys, not only in doing up their wounds, but 
in trying to lead them to a better life. 

" Every severe attack I have helps to 
loosen the cords that ' bind me here ; and 
whether the last cord will be snapped herey 
God knows best and knows only. I have 
committed all into his hands, knowing that he 

will do all things well. Dr. C says I need 

not do anything this winter in my ward but 
rest, and then, in the spring, I shall be able 
to do the same as ever. He and all the 
nurses are very kind, doing all they can for 
my comfort. I have a nice, warm room in 
which the sun shines brightly ; but rest 
assured if I do not feel able to stay, I shall 



II 



SFIE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 245 

write you. Until then you can feel easy about 
me, knowing that I am gaining in health." 

But it is evident that there was not much 
improvement physically. Her correspondence 
was in a great measure dropped, and her 
"new journal" ceased its record entirely. She 
acknowledges the receipt of boxes as usual, 
and in one of these letters writes : 

*' I have no time to make anything for 
myself. We have to sew two hours every day 
on the hospital clothing now, as we have so 
few patients. Of course we must keep em- 
ployed all the time, or the forty cents per day 
might be too much for lis, and government 
might grow poor. 

''When you see Miss N., please thank her 
for that tea. How I do wish she could have 
seen the faces of the boys as I gave them a 
mug full ! for when they have a poor dinner, 
and they look so sorrowful, my tea-pot is brought 
out; and often they say, 'That tea is worth a 
dollar.' . . . There is nothing new, but a 
heavy battle is expected. I hope it may be 
the last." 

Her thoughts were often upon her good 



246 ECHOES FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

friend, the President, in these perilous times, 
and she expresses a solicitude beyond that for 
anything else. She writes to a friend : 

" My soul is in the Lincoln family, and why 
I am so distressed for them all God only 
knows. Sometimes I think God has put this 
heavy burden upon me for some wise purpose 
best known to himself. My heart cries out to 
God in behalf of Mrs. Lincoln and our dear, 
good President. I feel that I can pray for 
him hourly." 

Soon after this letter was penned, came 
news of the fall of Richmond, and at the end 
of another week, tidings of Lee's surrender at 
Appomattox Court House was flashed through 
the land. The welcome news of " Peace " 
permeated every home and every hospital, and 
there was joy and tumult, laughter and weeping 
mingled in one loud paean. But where was the 
nurse who was first to weep with those who 
wept, and rejoice with those who rejoiced? No 
word of exultant thankfulness was received 
from her by waiting friends. Prostrate on a 
bed of sickness, she was struggling for life, 
while those to whom she had given back life 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 247 

and strength, were exulting in the anticipation 
of exchanging these scenes of suffering for the 
reality of home comforts and enjoyments. 

We have no record of all that passed in 
that room of suffering, save that she had the 
best of care, and that a nurse from Boston 
was sent for, and watched over her in the first 
stages of convalescence from typhoid. 

Then came the news of the assassination 
of President Lincoln. From the highest pin- 
nacle of joy, the nation was plunged into the 
deepest gulf of sorrow. The news penetrated 
the sick-room where she, who had been visited 
with dim forebodings of this dire calamity, 
felt its fulfillment as a personal bereavement, 
and at a time when least able to bear it. 

With the strength born of a determined 
will, she resolved on seeing the face of her 
dear friend once more. She was made ready 
by careful hands, and was taken into the 
presence of death, and there added her tribute 
of tears to that of hundreds of others who 
looked upon their beloved friend with unspeak- 
able sorrow and affection. 

As soon as was practicable, she was taken 



2i8 ECHOES FROM HOSriTAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

from the hospital, from which all the conva- 
lescent boys had now gone, who were able 
to be conveyed to their homes. These are the 
particulars incident to this event, written from 
the home of a friend in Newburgh, N. Y., where 
she was then resting on her journey home. 

May 2, 1865. 

My Dear Mrs. F. : — Some weeks have elapsed since I last 
wrote you, and I felt for a few days tbat my hand might never 
hold the pen again ; but God, who is wise and good, has once 
more given me health, and this morning I am feeling well. 

I am in a very pleasant home, where everything is being done 
for me, and since I have left the hospital I have gained rapidly. 

I will not attempt to describe all I passed through in my sick- 
ness while there, but the sudden death of my dear friend, the 
President, then the threatened burning of Columbia College and 
the shooting of our pickets, one of whom was brought into the 
hospital — these, with other things which I will describe when 
I see you, all helped to keep my nerves in a constant ^tate of 
excitement. But, thanks to my Heavenly Father, I can still feel 
*' He doeth all things well." 

On the twentieth of April I took my honorable discharge from 
the hospital, where I had cared for over seven hundred patients, 
and closed the dying eyes of nearly eighty. Miss Dix said she 
had not words to express her grief at my leaving the service, 
feeling, as she said, as though she was to be left alone with so 
much on her mind, and wishing I was only able to go to Secretary 
Seward's and dress the wounds of the whole family. She urged 
me to stay in the service and do nothing but rest for a few weeks, 
but the surgeon on my ward told me that I was doing a great 
injury to myself to remain any longer, so I think I will rest till 
Providence opens another place. 

My heart ached as I saw the tears from my poor sick boys fall : 



SHE HATH DONE WHAT SHE COULD. 249 

but I had served three years and seven months, and I felt that I 
must go. Two of my boys carried me down stairs in their arms, 
and expressed much sorrow at my leaving. 

Taking all things, I have passed through trying scenes, but this 
morning the sun shines just as bright as ever, God is still good to 
us, and may it never be in my heart to complain or murmur while 
my experience is so full of God's unbounded love. To-day I 
expect to go to Catskill, and in June I hope to be at home if I 
am perfectly well, but shall not come home sick. 

It is needless to say that she was wel- 
comed home with open arms, and the rest so 
much needed was found in the homes of friends. 
Who can tell, if her good friend the President 
had lived, how different the leadings of Provi- 
dence might have been at this time ? But all 
the generous promises of ample remuneration 
and support which he guaranteed her were ren- 
dered void through his sudden death. 

At the end of two years she found herself 
equal once more to the responsible duties 
of life, and accepted a position as matron of a 
reformatory home for girls, at Newton Centre, 
Mass. Here she remained for seven years, 
when the Home was disbanded, leaving her 
with four friendless little girls, for whom she 
desired to make a home. 

Kind friends came to her assistance, and 



250 FXHOi:S FROM HOSPITAL AND WHITE HOUSE. 

this little family became the nucleus of what is 
now an institution incorporated under the 
name of "The Newton Home for Orphan and 
Destitute Girls," where she is still engaged in 
the work of blessing the lives of the un- 
fortunate. 

*Tis fully known to One, by us yet dimly seen, 

The blessing thou hast been ; 
Yet speaks the silent love of many a mourning heart 

The blessing that thou arty 
While traced on coming years, in faith and hope we see 

A blessing thou shalt be; 
Then here in holy labor, there in holier rest, 

Blessingy thou shalt be blessed. 



New Publications. 



Five Little Peppers and How They Grew. By 
Margaret Sidney. III. Boston : D. Lothrop & Co. Price 
$1.50. Of all the books for juvenile readers which crowd 
the counters of the dealers this season, not one possesses so 
many of those peculiar qualities which go to make up a per- 
fect story as this charming work. It tells the story of a 
happy family, the members of which, from the mother to the 
youngest child, are bound together in a common bond of 
love. Although poor, and obliged to plan and scrimp and 
pinch to live from day to day, they make the little brown 
house which holds them a genuine paradise. To be sure 
the younger ones grumble occasionally at having nothing 
but potatoes and bread six days in the week, but that can 
hardly be regarded as a defect either of character or disposi- 
tion. Some of the home-scenes in which these little Pep- 
pers are the actors are capitally described, and make the 
reader long to take part in them. The description of the 
baking of the birthday cake by the children during the 
absence of the mother ; the celebration of the first Christ- 
mas, and the experiences of the family with the measles are 
portions of the book which will be thoroughly enjoyed. A 
good deal of ingenuity is displayed by the author in bring- 
ing the little Peppers out of their poverty and giving them a 
start in life. The whole change is made to turn on the 
freak of the youngest of the cluster, the three-year old 
Phronsie, who insisted on sending a gingerbread boy to a 
rich old man who was spending the summer at the village 
hotel. The old gentleman after laughing himself sick at the 
ridiculous character of the present, called to see lier, and is 
so taken with the whole family that he insists upon carrying 
the eldest girl home with him to be educated. How she 
went, and what she did, and how the rest of the family 
finally followed her, with the rather unlooked-for discovery of 
relationship at the close, make up the substance of a dozen 
or more interesting chapters. It ought, for the lesson it 
teaches, to be put into the hands of every boy and girl mi 
the country. It is very fully and finely illustrated and 
bound in elegant form, and it will find prominent place 
among the higher class of iuvenile presentation books t^*'' 
coming holiday season. 



New Publications. 



What the Seven Did. By Margaret Sidney. Boston : 
D. Lothrop & Co. Price $175. One of the most attractive 
volumes of the present year, or, indeed, of any of tbe years 
preceding, is this dehghtful record of the sayings and doings 
of the Wordsworth Ckib at its various regular and irregular 
meetings. The club is a girls' club and the mystic number 
seven constitutes its active strength. The members are 
greatly given to fun and frolic, and their meetings, although 
generally spiced with easy-to-break-out tempers of some of 
the lively crowd, are generally occasions of special enjoy- 
ment. There is a mystery in the story — a succession of 
mysteries, rather — and they all have to do with a certain 
Miss Rachel Wigthorpe and a Little Brown Box. Just what 
they are we are not permitted to tell, but they have the 
effect of bringing the members of the Club together at very 
special weekly meetings in Miss Wigthorpe's parlor for 
seven consecutive weeks, and not only that, but all the boys 
and girls of the neighborhood who have, or who can beg or 
borrow ten cents, are eager to share in the enjoyment of 
these mysterious evenings. Even the babies and the cats 
sometimes have to be let in, and occasionally a prominent 
part is taken in the proceedings by a mature and irrepressi- 
ble young gentleman of three, who insists on wearing his 
hat and lias a proclivity, in certain contingencies, for the 
active use of teeth and nails. It is a delightful book from 
beginning to end, and will furnish no end of entertainment 
for juvenile readers. It is profusely illustrated, with an 
artistic cover designed by J. Wells Champney. 

Tennyson's Pastoral Songs. Boston: D. Lothrop & 
Co. Price $2.50. Among the holiday publications now in 
course of preparation by the Messrs. Lothrop, this exquisite 
volume merits particular attention. It is made up of choice 
selections from the works of the poet-laureate, beautifully 
illustrated, printed on the finest paper, and elegantly bound. 
Among the selections are some of the songs from "Maud" 
and "The Princess," " The Bugle Song," " The Brook," 
** The Miller's Daughter," etc. Nothing more choice of its 
kind will be offered holiday buyers the coming season. 



NEW Publications. 



The Pettibone Name. By Margaret Sidney. The V 1 F 
Serier?. Boston: D. Lotliiop & Co. Price $1.25 If tlie 
publishers had offei'ed a prize for the brightest, freshest and 
most brilliant bit of home fiction wherewith to start off this 
new series, they conld not have more perfectly succeeded 
than they have in securing this, The Pettibone Name, a story 
that ought to create an immediate and wide sensation, and 
give the author a still higher place than she now occupies in 
popular esteem. The heroine of the story is not a youn"*, 
romantic girl, but a noble, warm-hearted woman, who sacri- 
fices wealth, ease and comfort for the sake of others who are 
dear to lier. There has been no recent figure in Anierican 
fiction more clearly or skillfully drawn than Judith Petti- 
bone, and the impression made upon the reader will not be 
easily effaced. Most of tlie characters of the book are such 
as may be met Avith in any New England village. Deacon 
Badger, whose upriglit life and pleasant ways make him a 
universal favorite; little Doctor Pilcher, with his liot temper 
and quick tongue; Samantha Scarritt, the village dress- 
maker, whose sliarp speech and love of gossip are tempered 
by a kind heart and quick sympathy, and the irrepressible 
Bobby Jane, all are from life, and all alike loenr testimony 
to the author's keenness of observation and skill of delinea- 
tion. Taken altogether, it is a delightful story of New En- 
gland life and manners; sparkling in style, bright in incident, 
and intense in interest. It deserves to be widely read, as it 
will be. 

Life and Public Career of Horace Greeley. By 
W. M. Cornell, LL. D. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. Price 
$1.25. This is a new edition of a popular life of Greeley, the 
first edition of which was early exhausted. It has been the 
author's aim to give a clear and correct pen picture of the 
great editor, and to trace the gradual steps in his cai-eer from a 
poor and haid-workingfarjner boy to tlie editorial cliair of the 
most powerful daily newspaper in America. The book has 
been thoroughly revised and considerable new matter added. 



NEW PUBLICATIONS. 



A Family Flight over Egypt and Syria. By E. E. 
Hale and Susan Hale. 111. Boston : D. Lothrop & Co. 
Price $2.50. Of all the books issued during the holiday 
season a year ago, not one had so immediate and widespread 
a popularity as the first volume of this series, A Family 
Flight through France, Germany, Norway and Switzer- 
land. Although a very large edition was issued by the 
publishers early in December it was wholly exhausted before 
Christmas, while the call was at its height, and there has 
been a steady demand for it ever since in the regular chan- 
nels of the trade. Attractive as it was, the present volume 
is of still greater interest and is even more profusely illus- 
trated. It is especially timely too, as everybody is anxious, 
in view of the present complications in the East, to know 
something more about Egypt than can be gained from the 
daily papers. 

The family — four in number this time — make their 
flight from New York, landing at Bordeaux, and pushing on 
■without stop to Marseilles, which they reached just in time 
to catch the steamer for Alexandria. They stop at Malta 
on the way, but only for a few hours, which, however, are 
well improved. At Alexandria they remain for two days, 
and then hurry on to Cairo, where friends are awaiting 
them. Here the Nile journey begins, and an entertaining 
record of each day's experiences is given. The party sees 
all that possibly can be seen, both going np and coming 
down the river. After their return to Cairo and a few 
days' rest they start for Suez, where they traverse the one 
hundred miles of the famous canal to I'ort Said, on the 
Mediterranean. From there they take the steamer to Jaffa, 
the ancient Joppa, and the most ancient town in the world. 
From there they push on to Jerusalem, and after an exhaus- 
tive exploration of the sacred city extend their travels to 
other historical localities of the Holy Land. The interest 
of the narrative never palls. The stylo is breezy, free and 
unconventional, and nothing is told but is worth the telling. 
The volume is beautifully bound, and, as we have already 
stated, is abundantly illustrated. A new edition of the first 
volume will be issued simultaneously with Egypt and Syria 
In ample time for the holiday trade. 



«> ^B-94' 



New Publications. 



After the Fkeshet. By Edward A. Band. Luston; 
D. Lotbrop <fe Co. riice§1.25. This is the second \(;li.nie 
in the V 1 F series which was stamped with success by ihe 
first issue. It is unnecessary to say of any boolvs of Mr. 
Rand's that they are bright, interesting and helpful; that 
may be taken for granted. His stories have always 
been characterized by those qualities and in the one 
before us they are particularly proniinent. There is 
always a purpose in his books, an influence which remains 
after the mere incidents of the story are forgotten. He has 
painted a variety of characters, good and bad. in After 
the Freshet, all of which have a special mission to per- 
form. The main character of the story is Arthur Manley, a 
young man of fine talents and noble character, who has been 
brought up in a rough farmer's family in ignorance of his 
parentage. From the fact that he has become a great favor- 
ite with a wealthy family in town, he has incurred the 
dislike of an unprincipled lawyer, who has designs upon 
that family, and who resorts to a series of persecutions in 
order to get him out of the way. The story of how he 
evades the plots of his enemy and how he ultimately dis- 
covers the secret <'f his birth and achieves the other and 
higher ambitions of his life, is vividly and affectingjy told. 
Todays and Yesterdays. By Carrie Adelaide Cooke. 
Boston : D. Lothrop & Co. Price $1.25. This pleasant 
story is from the pen of the author of From June to June, 
and is intended for the reading of girls who have reached 
that age when their real mission in life seems to commence; 
the age when school-days are ended, and the sphere of duty 
is enlarged by wider acquaintance and new responsibilities. 
The story opens at a New Hampshire seminary on the eve 
of examination day, and the principal characters are three 
girls, school-coinpanions and fellow-graduates. It is not a 
story of incident, nor does its interest depend upon strong 
contrasts or vivid descriptions. The narrative is a quiet 
following out of the currents of these three lives, with their 
various changes, their joys and sorrows. A strong religious 
element permeates the book, and it will be found a valuable 
addition to Sunday-school literature. 



New Publications. 



Yensie Walton's Womanhood. By Miv^. S. E, Grabam 
Clark. Boston: D. Lothrop & Co. Price $1.00. Nine out 
of ten Sunday-school scholars have read Yensie Walton, one 
of the best jind most interesting books that ever went into a 
Sunday-school library. The present volume introduces 
Yensie in a new home and under new conditions. She 
enters the family of a friend as an instructor of the younger 
members, and the narrative of her experiences will especially 
interest those who have to do with the moral and mental 
training of cliiklren. The author shows that all children 
are not made after the same pattern, and that one line of 
treatment is not of universal application. In one of her 
pupils, a boy of brilliant mental endowments, whose mind 
has become embittered because of a physical deformity, 
Yensie finds mucli to interest as well as to discourage her. 
She perseveres, however, and by studying his character 
carefully and working upon him from the right side, she 
gradually works a change in his disposition and brings his 
better qualities into active exei-cise. Tliis is scarcely accom- 
plished when a call from Valley Farm reaches her. Ever 
prompt to do duty's bidding, Yensie quits this liappy home 
for the sterner requirements of her uncle's family, where 
she lauored with unflagging interest and determinalion until 
tliat ii^-ch-loved relative says his last good-by. It is then 
that the hithtr^rto silenced wooer refuses to be longer quiet, 
aucl our heroine goes out from the old rfd fai-in-house to her 
wedded home, where as a wife and mother she makes duty 
paramount to j^leasure, and every circumstance of life is 
met with that same fortitude characteristic of the Yensie 
Walton you so much admire. Besides the characters with 
which the reader is already familiar through the former 
work, others are introduced which are equally well drawn, 
and which serve to round out the story to completeness. 

The Mother's Record of the Mental, Moral and 
Physica:. Life of Her Child. Boston : D. Lothrop & Co. 
Quarto, $1.00. This work is valuable as it is unique. It is 
prepared by a Massachusetts wcmian, and though oiiginally 
intended for her own benefit, has been published for tlie 
help of motiiers (nerywhere. It is intended for a yearly 
clfronicle of tlie child's growth and development, mental 
and physical, and will be an important aid to mothers who 
devote themselves to conscientious training of their little 
ones. 



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